Fallout 3: The Road To Reconstruction
by thehighroller1
Summary: Thomas looked back as Vault 101's entrance screamed shut behind him. This was it... no going back now. The time had come for him to find his father and face the Capital Wasteland. He took a deep breath and slowly opened the door leading to the outside...
1. Chapter 1: New Beginnings

**Author's Note:** **Here's my second fanfic story, and this one is for one of my favorite Xbox 360 games - Fallout 3. I promise to continue my work on "Saviors of Azeroth", that will certainly not change, but I'm just taking a small break from it so I can begin this. I'm just going to play through the game, and write what happens to me as I progress through the Capital Wasteland, but don't worry. It will not be a step-by-step narrartion. There will be plenty of original things in it, and some things will be changed a bit. Anyways, I began my work on this story on July 4, 2009 (Funny, huh?). As I have learned from my other story, the reviews I get from others greatly help me, so please leave some reviews! It's only the first chapter, and I'm already having a blast writting this! The first part is for those who have not played this game or do not understand the setting/main plot of Fallout 3 (For those of you who _have _played the game, I'm sure that you will recognize this small speech). So, here we go.** **I am pleased to present the first chapter of "Fallout 3: The Road to Reconstruction"! Enjoy...**

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**Chapter 1: New Beginnings**

_"War...war never changes._

_Since the dawn of human kind, when our ancestors first discovered the killing power of rock and bone, blood has been spilled in the name of everything; from God, to justice, to simple psychotic rage._

_In the year 2077, after a millennia of armed conflict, the destructive nature of man could sustain itself no longer. The world was plunged into an abyss of nuclear fire and radiation._

_But it was not, as some had predicted, the end of the world. Instead, the apocalypse was simply the prologue to another bloody chapter for human history, for man had succeeded in destroying the world. But war...war never changes._

_In the early days, thousands were spared the horrors of the holocaust by taking refuge in enormous underground shelters known as vaults. But when they emerged, they had only the hell of the Wastes to greet them, all except those in Vault 101. For on that fateful day, when fire rained from the sky, the giant steel door of Vault 101 slid closed and never reopened._

_It was here you were born, Thomas. It is here you will die, because in Vault 101, no one ever enters...and no one ever leaves."_

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The blinding light of the the outside world was not necessarily the greeting Thomas had expected from the Wasteland. It stabbed at his eyes and made him strain and squint in annoyance. After what seemed like forever, Thomas was finally able to adjust his eyes to fight off the overwhelming light that blocked his vision of the wasteland that lay before him. _So that's the sun, huh? _he thought to himself as he looked off into the distance.

Destruction was all around him. Wrecked cars, demolished buildings, and ruined roads stretched across the landscape's haze of death and radiation. It was even worse than Mr. Brotch had ever described back in the vault during class. "Horrible and desolate" was quite the understatement. From the moment Thomas realized that he had to escape from the Overseer and his men with the help of Amata, he began to anticipate what would be outside, waiting for him in the Wastes. Everyone he knew in Vault 101 had always spoke of the dangers of "the world outside", but they had never seen it for themselves. Thomas was getting ready to experience the trials of the Capital Wasteland, firsthand.

The Wastes were already much different from the safe isolation of the vault. Out there, there was no main room. No ceiling. No halls or corridors. The only light was the great sun that watched over the war-torn world. Thomas knew that it would take some time to get used to all of these changes, but it was better than staying in the vault with the Overseer trying to hunt him down.

Thomas lowered his head for a moment."Jonas...I'm so sorry all of this happened. I promise I will find Dad,"he muttered to himself before he started his descent down the rocky path. He strolled down the road leading into the nearest settlement, making further observations of the devastation. Only five minutes out of the vault, and Thomas was already seeing little pools of radiated filth. The road was cracked and was completely destroyed at some points. Thomas followed it until it led him to the small town. The sign at the front was somewhat destroyed, but still legible. It read:

_"..lcome to Springvale!"_

_"Springvale"? Is there somebody at all here? _he thought while he walked down the street. "Hello?! Is there anyone out there!"

No answer but the echo of own his plea and the howling of the wind. "Hello?! Anybody?!"

Same response. Springvale was simply dead. Not a soul was there to call out to Thomas; he was alone. However, that changed when he saw something moving on the other side of the street. Slowly reaching for his pistol, Thomas got closer to see a small metal ball with three antennae protruding out floating in the air, aimlessly wandering about the ruins of Springvale. He knew right away what it was.

_An eyebot? What's one doing here? _Thomas slowly approached the eyebot, lowering his 9mm. It continued to fly about, seeming to completely ignore Thomas. When he got close enough, Thomas could hear a voice coming from the eyebot.

It began to speak in a very powerful, human-like voice as it continued its little patrol. "Hello again, America the magnificent! This is President Eden, and I was hoping we could talk. Let's talk about government, shall we? Or more specifically, _your_ government, dear America: the Enclave. Just who is the Enclave? Why, now that's simple. The Enclave is you, America. The Enclave is your sister, your aunt, your friend, your neighbor... and well...yes, the Enclave is me as well." There was a small chuckle. "As your president, it is my responsibility to preside over our great democracy. So, as your president, I am the voice, I am the heart, and soul of the Enclave. That is to say, I am the voice, heart, and soul of America. But only together... _together_, can we hope to reach our full potential. The way we were before the war: whole. Beautiful...powerful... One Enclave, one America...now and forever! And now, dearest America, we must say farewell. For there is much work to be done, and the Enclave never rests. Never. Until we meet again, this is your president, John Henry Eden, signing off." The patriotic music of flutes and drums soon escaped from the radio with the eyebot continuing its path.

The eyebot left Thomas in wonder. Question began to rush into his head instantly. _Who is John Henry Eden? Who exactly is the "Enclave"? Are there other groups out there aside from the Enclave? _Thomas did not pay much attention in his American Government class back in the vault, so he was a bit confused about how the government functioned at the time, but relieved to know that there were still signs of civilized life out there somewhere. _Good thing the Wasteland isn't completely filled with barbarians, but I would like to know more about this, this "Enclave"..._

Thomas holstered his weapon and continued his walk deeper into Springvale. He looked about until something caught his eye. It was a rusted metal sign with some sort of writting on the front. As Thomas got closer to it, the scent of yellow spray paint began to strengthen, making him feel a bit lightheaded. The sign read "Megaton" with an arrow pointing to his right.

_What the hell does it mean by "Megaton"?_ Thomas wondered. He began to head in the direction of the arrow, hoping he would get an answer to his question. As Thomas hiked over the large boulders and mounds of debris, something stood out from the rocks and dirt in the distance. It seemed to be a crudely-made fortress of metal. Scraps and sheets appeared to be slapped onto the stronghold's canvas of rust. Even the parts of a crashed plane seemed to appear on segments of the settlement's walls.

Thomas sighed with great relief_. The second sign of life I've seen_! He hopped over more rocks and hurried to the scene. Growing closer, his step slowed and his caution rose as figures near the structure came into view. There was a man in a tattered, ruined outfit, a guard who patrolled from the top of the walls on a catwalk, and a Protectron edition robot covered in dust occupied the vicinity just outside the fortress's entrance. A large turbine was set just above the outer gate and looked as if it was the source of power to raise and lower the wings of the gate.

Like the eyebot Thomas encountered earlier, the Protectron seemed to be completely oblivious to the world around it. It stayed in place as its upper body and arms shifted to the next part of its movement pattern: To the left...Pause...To the right...Pause...Back to the left...Pause. Repeat. It starred off into the distance as if it was keeping watch or guarding whatever this place was.

The man had a very rough beard and greasy blonde hair and looked to be much older than Thomas. He made no effort to confront or even face him. The only thing he had the strength to do is just speak, sit on the rocks and glare at the Protectron and the protected. He held his throat and groaned. "Water..."

Thomas approached the area and looked around. He was glad to finally reach his newest destination. He looked at the Protectron with a curious look as it faced his direction. It soon spoke in a very static and monotone voice. It said, "Thirsty, partner? Try Moriarty's. Coldest drinks in the Capital Wasteland."

Angered, the man felt as if the robot was taunting him. "Oh shut the hell up you worthless scrap of metal! Do you think _I _wouldn't love to get a damn dri-" he stopped in mid sentence when he noticed Thomas. "What the...? Oh, thank God! Somebody new! Hey! Hey, kid! Come over here, please!"

Thomas turned to face the person who wanted his attention and walked over. "Hey, what is this place?"

The man chuckled at the fact that Thomas didn't know where he was. "Ha! You're kidding, right, kid? You've never heard of Megaton? Where the hell have you been all this time?" He then took notice to Thomas' blue jumpsuit and knew where he was from right away. Sarcastically, he continued to speak. "Oh, no wonder why you don't know! You've been cooped up in that underground prison, haven't you? Vault 101, huh?"

The mention of his home surprised Thomas. Just who was this person? "What the hell do you know about the vault?

Laughing again, the man answered his question. "Heh. More than you think, kid. When that vault closed, many people tried to get in. They needed to find a safe haven from the horrors of this Wasteland, but you vault sons of bitches denied them entry. You said they were 'tainted', and since us 'lesser people' were not good enough to enjoy the safety and refuge of such a shelter, they were all left to fend for themselves out here; left to _die_."

What this man was saying shocked Thomas. He couldn't believe that everyone he knew and everyone that looked after him all his life could do something as cruel as rejecting those who were dying and in need of help. Other people trying to get into the vault was never really spoken of back home, so it was a possibility that this man was telling the truth.

_Could he be right? _Thomas thought. _I had never heard of_ _people trying to enter 101 before. Did everyone just try to cover it up and pretend like it never happened? _The man's story seemed like a possibility, but there was still one problem with it. "Why should I believe a complete stranger that I have never met in my entire life before? The Vault was sealed over two-hundred years ago, anyways!"

"That may have been before my time, but that doesn't mean I'm not suffering because of 101's arrogance. Since my ancestors and everyone else were turned down, I wasn't born with the guarantee of safety out here. I could have been like you... I could have grown up with the assurance that I would be safe!" the man shouted, now on the edge of shedding tears. He paused for a moment, attempting to collect himself. After a deep breath he continued, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken out my anger on you. You're just a kid, and I doubt any of this is your fault to begin with."

Thomas knew how this man must have felt. "Don't apologize. I should be the one doing that. I had no right to automatically assume that I was right. It's just that I haven't even been out here for two hours. I'm confused, lost, and I don't know what to do."

The man shot Thomas a curious look. "You shouldn't even _be_out here, kid. Why would you leave all of that safety behind to come to a shithole like this? Times are tough. Every day more and more people die out here, and I don't think there are very many good souls left in the world anymore." He grabbed his throat again and let out a hacking cough as a bigger problem rose. "Kid, I hate to ask, but do you have any water? Megaton only gives their supply to residents. Please...I'm dying. I just throw up this irradiated crap now. I can't do it anymore! I need purified water. Please..."

Thomas knew he had to help him. It wasn't in his nature to just leave someone in this kind of suffering. _I have to do something... _

He replayed the memories of his escape from the vault in his mind, hoping he would find an answer. Images flashed of him running, shooting, and hiding throughout Vault 101's deadly corridors. He remembered fighting the security guards and opening the steel door. Upon further and deeper thought, Thomas then remembered just before he left the vault, he snatched some bottles of fresh, clean water from a shelf in the storage room. _That's it! _Thomas checked his Pip-Boy's storage system, and sure enough, there were the four bottles he took. He took one of them and held it out to the man. "Here. I hope this helps."

A look of absolute shock appeared on the man's face as he stared at the teasing drink. It seemed almost too good to be true. Surely, this was some kind of cruel, sick joke. Staggered, he looked at Thomas. "Are...are you serious? I can have it? I...I have nothing to offer in return."

Thomas felt that what he was doing was the right thing to do. "I don't need anything from you. I insist that you take it. It's the least I can do to help," he said as he handed the man his Holy Grail.

His eyes widened in disbelief as he held out his trembling hand. "Water? Water! Precious water! You saved my life, kid! Thank you! You're a Saint! Thank you! I don't how I could ever repay you!" He unscrewed the plastic top off, desperate to soothe his agonizing throat, now drier than the Sahara, and took a big gulp.

Thomas nodded and smiled. "It's nothing at all. You got a name?"

The man finished his monstrous guzzle and returned his gaze to Thomas. "Call me Mickey. And you?"

"The name's Thomas Allen."

"I can't thank you enough, Thomas. With people like you, I think we _do _stand a chance at rebuilding. Thanks again. Farewell, and take care of yourself."

"I'm glad I could help. I hope to see you again, Mickey. Goodbye," Thomas said as he returned his attention to Megaton.

The outer gate remained closed and Thomas examined it for a moment, wondering what to do. Soon after, he heard another voice. "Hey, kid! Eyes up!" Thomas looked up to see the guard waving. "Hey, I saw you helping out that Mickey person. We could use more people like you here. I'll open the gate for you, go on in!"

Thomas squinched in annoyance with the clanking and screeching of metal screaming in his ears. The jet turbine spun furiously as the wings parted, allowing entry into Megaton. He looked up again to shout at the guard. "Thanks!"

The Protectron turned to face Thomas again. "Welcome to Megaton. Enjoy your stay!"

He nodded at the robot and slowly approached the inner gate, preparing to open it. _I just hope someone in this place knows if Dad was here, _he thought as he pushed open the way into Megaton, beginning the search for his father.


	2. Chapter 2: A Megaton of Problems

**Author's Note:** **Hey guys! Here's the second chapter of this story, and I hope you are enjoying it so far! I must apologize for taking forever on this chapter (time is always a HUGE problem of mine, but I'll fix it!). If there's anything I need to work on, please let me know. Advice is always helpful. Oh, and I also apologize if my descriptions of bomb defusing are lacking. I am no expert in such a field! And so, since I have run out of things to say, I present to you chapter two... **

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**Chapter 2 - A Megaton of Problems**

Thomas scanned the town of Megaton as the gate slammed shut behind him. The houses and buildings matched the crudeness and unprofessionalism of the exterior walls. Metal sheets and scraps were even used as walkways and balconies to Megaton's upper levels. This eyesore of a town certainly failed to possess the luxurious flair of a mansion, villa, or even a manor.

Despite these obvious signs of poverty, Megaton's people found a way to survive in their little scrap of a heaven in the Capital Wasteland. Megaton's layout was like a giant bowl, and the majority of the activity was near the center of the massive crater along with something else that caught Thomas' attention instantly. A giant metal ball with a "tail" sat right in the center of an irradiated pool.

_Good God_! Thomas thought_. Is that a bomb?!_ Before he could begin his descent into the crater's heart to investigate, someone was coming his way.

It was a dark-skinned man who spoke in a low and deep voice. "Well I'll be damned! Someone from 101's here in Megaton?" He let out a small chuckle. "It certainly has been a _long _time since I last saw one of those jumpsuits!" Thomas walked down to confront this stranger.

The man wore an old olive-green duster and had a beard even thicker than Mickey's. His cowboy hat, leather gloves, and sheriff star reminded Thomas of a poster of one of his favorite radio programs as a child: _The Wild Adventures of Curt the Cowboy_. The only major difference was the intimidating assault rifle clinging to this man's back. "The name's Lucas Simms, the town's mayor and even the sheriff when such a need arises," the man held out his hand, anticipating Thomas to shake it.

"It's quite a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Simms," Thomas greeted as he took and shook Lucas' hand, "this is a nice town you've made here." As obvious as a lie as that was, due to the fact that Megaton was ages away from even coming close to bearing such a title as "a nice town," Lucas somehow knew that Thomas was just being nice.

Lucas smiled. "Friendly _and _well-mannered, hmm? I like that. I feel like we're gonna get along just fine. You're welcome to stay as long as you like... so long as you treat my people right."

"Heh. No problem. I didn't come here to terrorize a town I just discovered."

"That's good to hear, and I'm glad we understand each other," Lucas nodded. "So what exactly brings you to Megaton?"

"Well I'm looking for my father. He's a middle-aged man, about this tall, brownish...grayish hair. Do you think you've seen him?"

Lucas paused for a moment and scanned through his mind, searching if anyone matched such a description. "Hmm..." In the end he failed, however. "Nope. Sorry, but I don't recall anyone like that. I'd ask around town if I were you. Someone's bound to know."

Thomas sighed, "Damn! Well... I had a feeling that it wouldn't be this easy. Alright, I'll get looking soon, but I have to ask you about this bomb."

"What about it?" Lucas asked, raising an eyebrow at the mention of such a delicate subject.

"I may be from a vault, but even _I_ know that all towns don't have giant bombs that could explode at any time and vaporize hundreds of people instantly in the very center!"

Lucas laughed slightly, looking back at the bomb as it stared back at him. "Hey, it's not like the people who established Megaton decided to build a settlement near something that could kill 'em all for _fun_. Most of the people here believe that it's no longer a threat. Ha! I respectfully disagree. That bomb is still just as alive as you and I are. Besides, Cromwell and his Church of Atom _worship _the damn thing!"

"The 'Church of Atom'? Who are they?" Thomas wondered.

"They're just a bunch of wackos here who see the bomb as some sort of relic or something like that. They may be crazy, sure, but I wouldn't worry; they're harmless." Lucas then steered the conversation back to the primary topic. "But enough of them. What's with all the curiosity of the bomb, anyways? Do you think that you got the know-how to defuse it?...For good?"

Thomas was forced to think for a moment. _I think I could pull it off... _Not even he was sure if the thought was either self-encouragement or just thinking something very stupid. Thomas had already accomplished much by escaping from the vault with all of security hell bent on taking him down. That was difficult enough, but disarming a bomb?

That's something he never thought he would or could ever do. Thomas already felt the pressure to do something about the cursed explosive. He knew he had to find his dad, but the world didn't revolve around what he wanted. The people out here in this radiated wasteland needed help. Humanity, itself, was falling apart at the seams, and it needed to be patched together before it was too late; before the damage would be permanent. _Even_ _if I don't lay a finger on the bomb, there's still the chance that it'll go off one of these days. I have to do something!_

No mistake could be made of how risky the situation was. If the bomb was defused properly without any problems, then Thomas might become some sort of hero in Megaton. But if he failed and screwed up, Megaton would be blown all the way to hell...and probably back.

The only thing that made Thomas even think he could disarm such a nasty nuke was the help of one of his friends from the vault: Stanley. He taught Thomas the basics of dealing with explosives, learning the simple do's and do not's and what to look for.

"I think I might be able to help you out. Just let me take a look at it first," Thomas proposed.

Lucas nodded. "I'm confident that you know what you're doing. Just don't screw up! I'm trusting you with this, so if you can get the job done, there will be a hundred caps in it for you."

"Wait...'Caps'? Do you mean, like, _bottle _caps?" Thomas asked. His lack of the knowledge about post-apocalyptia life made him feel a bit dumb and continued to remind him that he was just fresh meat to the dogs of the Wastes. If Thomas was going to survive out there, he knew that he would have to toughen up soon.

"Yes, I do. Out here, caps are what we use as money. It may not seem very valuable to have a bunch of bottle caps, but trust me." Lucas held out a small handful of caps, jiggling them in his hands as they rattled together."There are some people who will practically sit, roll over, and even beg for these little guys."

This was certainly something new for Thomas. _Bottle caps are now currency?! _he thought. _Crap! I should have brought that box of Nuka-Cola that Dad had! _It was too late to do anything about that now, and Thomas knew that it didn't matter where he was, whether it be the Capital Wasteland or Vault 101, one thing failed to change. It did not matter if currency was paper, coins, or even bottle caps, the fact remained: money talked, and Thomas was going to need it to get by.

After thinking about it for a long time, Thomas finally accepted the proposal. "All right. You've got yourself a deal, Lucas."

Relief found its way back to Lucas. The assurance that Megaton would soon be rid of the bomb once and for all strengthened his trust in Thomas. "Great!" Lucas said, "Something told me you were the one for the job, but please go easy first! I plan on continuing to keep myself, along with everyone else here, breathing for as long as possible..."

Thomas smiled and shot Lucas a playful salute. "Understood. I'll see to it that that thing is gone for good! And thanks for the help, sheri- err..mayor...or whatever!" He laughed, strolling down the hill.

He managed to march his was to the halfway mark until a voice hooked and reeled his attention back to Lucas. "Oh, and as for your dad, I say you ask around in Moriarty's Saloon. Maybe even Moriarty himself will help ya, but I wouldn't count on it. But for God's sake don't trust the man; the_ last_ thing he wants to be is your friend!"

"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks again," Thomas nodded, returning to his descent.

It felt good to him, knowing that the first two people he met outside of the vault could be trusted. Mickey lectured him with an introduction to the Wastes, and Lucas was very kind and helpful to a "Wasteland Newcomer." As great and fortunate as it was to have come across such characters who lack hostility, the sad but true reality that not everyone in the Wastes would be as friendly still lived.

_It's a pretty safe bet that many people out here would love to put a bullet in my brain the second they saw me. _Thomas looked down at his 9mm and laughed, _and I highly doubt that I will last long out here with this little piss-ant pistol!_

The bomb, showered in big dents, towered over Thomas as he returned the gaze. It sat in the radiated pool with a menacing look, threatening the rest of Megaton with the horror of a big boom.

Filled with wonder, a small group of people began to gather around the action. Their mixed feelings and attitudes towards Thomas, this new arrival, were only matched by the scattered looks they shot him. Uneasy, hopeful, confused, and curious thoughts surrounded and trapped the poor vault-dweller.

Thomas had only just begun his examination of the explosive, and already it seemed like an impossible puzzle. _Wow... _Thomas stared, nearly jaw-dropped. Circling the bomb, Thomas created mental note after mental note of the situation. It seemed to be growing more and more difficult.

_Slow and easy, _Thomas thought, _it's not gonna go off on its own, anyways. _The bomb had one this round as Thomas decided to retreat to Moriarty's. He felt like he needed a bit of rest after being nearly three hours out of the vault.

Scaling the stairs to the top, Thomas found that he obtained a better view of Megaton. It was now easier for him to see the lights that streamed across the whole town, stretching from one side to the other. Once the sun would descend from the sky, those little lamps would awaken from their slumber and shroud Megaton with their warm and oily glow, flying across the town with their metal wired streams like a spider's silk.

His boots clanked across the walkway as he reached the entrance. "Moriarty's Saloon" was sprayed above the door in pure white. _Stop number two... _Thomas thought as he flung open the door.

It was amazing to find that the inside matched nearly every aspect of the outside: plain, boring, and downright dull. There was no decoration of any sort. The place was dirty and lousy; holes drilled through the metal walls, determined to make their presence known. Shelves, counters, and small tables filled the first floor as a crude staircase guided people to the second level. Everyone that was in the bar seemed to be defending their own little corner or area from the others, keeping their business to themselves.

Thomas stepped in, only to be greeted by the halting glare from everyone. He was reduced to shifting his eyes across the room, frozen dead in his tracks. Still no sign of Moriarty. Thomas was begging for something to shatter this awkward and uneasy silence.

Thankfully, he got his wish. A voice offered the hammer to smash said silence. "Boy! Over here." Thomas looked over to find someone lounging in a metal chair beckoning him over. How this man's appearance stood out from the rest of everyone else in Megaton was simply outstanding. A luxurious suit paired with an equally fancy tie, classy sunglasses, and a nice hat were his attire of choice. "My, my, my... Just when I was about to abandon all hope, you happen to come my way... Dear boy, I am _very _happy to make your acquaintance." His smooth voice somehow masked him as a kind and proper gentlemen, but there was something about this person that just didn't seem right to Thomas.

Whatever business someone as nicely dressed as this man had in a dump like Megaton would be eliminated to anything but good; he played the one piece that stuck out and just didn't fit in with the rest. "And you are...?" Thomas interrogated.

The man smiled, "I am Mr. Burke, and you... You have not a single tie to this place; you're no resident of this... putrescent cesspool. I believe that makes you quite the valuable individual."

Suspicion continued to rise within Thomas, but he chose not to judge too quickly. "Is that so?"

Burke leaned in, closer so only Thomas was able to hear. "You don't see it, do you? You're an agent for hire! If anything happened to this place, why should you care? If Megaton were to...say..._go away_, who would miss it? Certainly not you...or I..."

More and more cynicism filled Thomas. "I don't like where this is going. Just what exactly are you getting at, Mr. Burke?"

The man pulled out a device of some sort. "Your future, my friend. I am merely the agent of certain interests that view this 'Megaton' as a disgusting roadblock for the reconstruction of humanity, itself; it is a blight on this burgeoning urban landscape. To begin with, you know as well as I do that the bomb that this town is named after is still _very_ much alive. All it needs is some motivation. I have in my possession a fusion pulse charge, and I need someone to place it within the bomb. That, my friend, is where you come in."

Thomas could not believe what he was hearing. "Wait! What?! You want to destroy the town?!" he said. He felt like drawing his gun, but stayed his hand for the time.

Burke smiled. "Oh, no! I am just the recruiter. _You_ get to have the real fun! The procedure is quite simple: you rig the bomb to explode, and you get rewarded. Handsomely. So what do you say?"

Without even thinking, Thomas heard himself blurt out his answer. "Absolutely not! I'm not gonna kill hundreds upon hundreds of innocents. Not now, not ever. You're out of your goddamn mind, Burke! This conversation is finished." He turned to storm out without another word, but heard the loading click of a gun. Returning his direction to Mr. Burke, Thomas found the gaping barrel of a silver pistol glaring back. It was the first time he had a gun's eye fixed upon him, since all the guards in 101 chased him with batons.

"You, my friend, are weak. You are so quick to defend those you do not even know! How do you know_ these_ people will not betray you further down the road? There is no true purpose in their miserable lives! All they serve as are the sacrifices to a nobler tomorrow." Soon after, all the patrons in the bar began to watch the conflict, proceeding with the guarding of their nests.

"You really have lost your mind, haven't you, Burke? Just how the hell do you plan to reach this 'nobler tommorow'? By killing? By _murdering_? That will only bring us lower and lower until there's nothing left! I believe this town and these people stand as a beacon, a sign that we possess a chance to scale back up the ladder, and there's no way I'm letting a psychopath like you destroy this contingency. I'm disarming that b-"

"And what makes you think I would just let you leave?!" Burke intruded. "What gave you the idea that I'd let you run back to that knuckle-dragging idiot Simms, and ruin all of our plans? You are not going anywhere! Ever."

Instinctively, Thomas surpassed Burke's trigger finger and dove behind a counter with catlike speed. People flipped over tables and chairs to hide from the firefight, shouting in terror. The zipping bullets penetrated the metal floor and disappeared from sight forever, leaving behind only the mark embedded into the ground. Thomas threw himself behind his protector, anticipating Burke's next shots.

At this point, a peaceful resolution was out of the question_. There's no way to reason with this nut-job_! Thomas knew what had to be done. He managed to dispatch every opposing guard in the vault with punches, kicks, and only wounding shots to the legs or feet, but did he have the heart to take a life?

Another stream of bullets pierced through the weak counter wall, their accuracy creeping closer to Thomas. His hand became sweaty as he gripped his 9mm tighter. A last barrage of bullets appeared even closer, one nearly scraping his neck. As great a risk as it was, the time had come to either shoot or be killed.

His head shot up from the little protection he had as he fixed his aim at Burke's forehead. The true fighter that had been caged within Thomas all these years somehow ripped its way through its prison as the world around Thomas seemed to slow down, almost to a complete stop.

_Take aim...steady...deep breath...fire!_

A single bullet escaped as the gun cracked. It sang through the air, sailing to its target. In less than two seconds, what was once Mr. Burke's head was now a beautiful blossom of red. His body dropped to the ground with a thud. He stared at what what he had done in complete shock. The lifeless and headless corpse that lay before Thomas, blood crawling all around his first kill, had no further movement. Everyone else followed after Thomas and did the only thing they could do: just sit and stare.

The silence that Thomas despised so much was returning_. My God! I have actually killed someone... _His hand trembled as he slowly holstered his death-dealer.

Once more, the silence was fought back as a figure threw open the door, gun in hand. It was Lucas. "I heard gunshots! What the hell is going on?" Lucas surveyed the saloon, discovering the scarlet-painted corner with its cadaver. "Thomas! What have you done!" he yelled as he raised his weapon, aiming at Thomas' head.

"Wait, sheriff! I can explain! This man, this Mr. Burke, was trying to detonate the bomb. I said I was going to defuse it, and he almost killed me! I had to shoot him," Thomas begged for the sheriff to believe him. To prove his innocence, Thomas walked over to Burke's bloody body and quickly snatched the pulse charge, disgusted by the gore. "Look. This was something he tried to give me. It's a fusion pulse charge and it could been used to rig the bomb."

"Give me that!" Lucas lowered his assault rifle and lunged at the sight of the threatening gizmo. "And you say it was Burke that wanted you to do this?" He sighed, "Oh, I never did like the look of him. Well what do we do now?"

"I have to defuse that bomb, Lucas...before another person like Burke strolls into town and tries to do the same thing!" Thomas insisted.

"That's a good idea," Lucas agreed, "I'll dispose of Burke. Just please don't go blowin' us up!"

Thomas opened the door and looked back at Lucas before heading out. "Trust me... I won't."


	3. Chapter 3: Explosive Results

**Author's Note: First off, I've been in an _extraordinarily_good mood lately. The New Orleans Saints won the Super Bowl, and I couldn't be happier! WHO DAT SAY DEY GONNA BEAT DEM SAINTS?! Aww, I'm glad that's out of my system. Secondly, I would like to go ahead and point something out before everyone does it for me. As mentioned in the last chapter, it should be pretty obvious that I am almost completely BSing the things about bomb defusing! I apologize for not pursuing a career in the bomb squad to make my descriptions better! Haha! And on a side note, the title is on the left now. I hope this is just temporary, but it seems as if my computer hates me and refuses to let me center it.**

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**Chapter 3 - Explosive Results**

The earth was just beginning to pull the sun out of the sky when Thomas stepped outside, but the lights still remained empty. Not much else had changed. People continued to walk about, keeping their business to themselves. It seemed as if every individual enjoyed the protection everybody contributed to the rest of Megaton, but still desired isolation for the most part; their methods of social interaction were like the two sides of the same coin.

Thomas peered down the railing, his gaze fixed directly on the bomb. Thankful that no one was acting suspicious around it, he sighed in relief. The only soul even near was Confessor Cromwell, preaching away to those who gave half a mind to lend their ears to his words.

He shook his head, attempting to rattle the earlier events out of his mind. Never in a thousand years did Thomas believe he would end up actually killing someone. Getting a BB gun at age ten was great for him, but he thought that blasting radroaches with silver pellets of death would be the extent he would reach to ending a life. Thomas couldn't stop fighting and arguing with the little angel inside of him_. It was either I kill him or he kills me. I had no choice_!

Even if it was someone with insane intentions as Burke possessed, a person is a person, and Thomas despised the fact that he would have to kill again. Sooner or later, he wouldn't have a choice; it was only a matter of time. All he could at this point was just shake the thoughts of death out of his system.

He walked down the set of stairs, eyes still pasted to his target. The familiar stares and glares of the others watching him returned to Thomas once more, adding to the weight of Thomas' nerves as they kept pulling him down. He felt like some sort of performer thrown onto the stage, ready to entertain the globe, the spotlight more blinding than the sun. Even the earth, itself, had its eye fixed upon him. His audience, silent. No applause, nor boos. They just held their breath, watching and waiting.

Thomas just stood there, looking at his challenge as it towered above him. He was making final observations and notes as he set foot into the small irradiated puddle that cradled the bomb. Throwing his arms around what he could of its metal shell, Thomas put his ear next to it and gave a few knocks, the echoes fumbling within. The knocks continued until he found the hollowing note that was out of tune. "Aha! Someone get me something sharp," Thomas requested.

As if by instinct, a young girl about Thomas' age scurried up the ramps and fell from view. Thomas waited patiently, surprised that someone responded so quickly. Moments later, the same girl resurfaced, holding what appeared to be some sort of blade. She zipped down from the walkway and handed Thomas what he asked for, breathing heavily.

"What's this?" Thomas politely asked, eyeing her with a curious look.

"One of the blades to a lawnmower," she answered.

Looking at his rusted razor, Thomas nodded his stamp of approval and smiled. "Perfect, this'll do fine. Thanks," he said.

The girl reflected the smile. "Mhmm, just don't go screwin' up, Mr. Vault Rat!" she taunted.

Thomas just raised an eyebrow and chuckled, trying regain his focus on the more serious matter at hand. But the thought could not escape from his head. _"Mr. Vault Rat"? _he thought._ Right. Whatever... _Parts of the crowd began dispersing due to the dying of the action. It relaxed Thomas more to see the numbers shrink. _Good. The less pair of eyes stabbing me in the back of my head the better! _

Even with the numbers decreasing, the girl, crowned in her dirty auburn hair, remained. Thomas tried to pick up his place, but her skill at distraction was too great. He lost track of where to cut into.

Thomas sighed, eyes still fixed on the bomb. He lightly struck it in frustration. "Damnit! You made me lose the hollow spot," he pouted, the knocks returning as he tracked down the area that escaped him. With this slip-up, his audience continued to dissolve to only a few watching; the weight dying bit by bit with each spectator's leave. Thomas surprisingly felt like he could concentrate harder now, but one major roadblock still remained: the girl.

She slowly grinned and started to laugh, "you won't last a week out here..."

A small grin crept across Thomas' face as he continued to work. "And how do you figure that? I seem to be doing alright out here at the time." He didn't want her to think he was actually worried about survival. "I think I know how to defend myself."

"What? You start getting a huge ego after blowing that Burke guy's head off earlier? Ha! You have no idea what else is out there." She glanced at his holstered 9mm and shook her head, "oh, I'm sorry about that. I was being a little harsh on the whole 'you won't last a week' thing... I'll be _nice _and bet you'll make it about...two and a half..?"

Thomas finally surrendered and halted his work once more and faced her. Tying to hide his fear and frustration, he smiled. "Alright! I'll tell ya what, what's-your-face... if something out there _does _happen to rip my head off... I'll give you the combination to the safe I'll be putting all of my caps in. Deal?"

"Oh ha, ha, ha...that's hysterical. Just shut up and fix the damn bomb!"

"Whatever you say," he laughed. Thomas was getting better results from his counterattack than he thought he would have. He threw out a playful smile, slightly chuckling at her signs of weakness in this fun little battle of words.

A few awkward moments of silence passed as Thomas found his hollow spot again and was once more on the road to bomb-defusing. The girl just stood there, thinking of something quick to say. She knew she no longer possessed the edge in this one. She frantically heard herself shoot out "Rachel!"

Thomas lunged the blade into the bomb, cringing at the screeches of metal versus metal. He stopped for a second. "Do what..?" he smiled again.

"It's 'Rachel'! My name..." That random outburst drove her further from control of the argument, so she quickly threw in one last insult, "God, your hearing sucks!"

"Oh, that's nice," Thomas hummed, positioning the lawn mower blade to snip the final wire; the bomb's minutes were now numbered. After a few extra moments of silence, he replied, "Thomas."

"Do what..?" Rachel asked.

"It's 'Thomas'. My name..." he smirked. "I should say the same about _your _hearing!"

Her fist clinched, "you keep that up, and you'll be better off dying from that bomb explosion!"

With that, Thomas sliced through the bomb one last time, snipping the main wire, draining its life source. It rattled from within and drew its last breath. The bomb was dead, along with the explosive threat that loomed over Megaton.

Thomas fell back, pleased with himself. "Phew! That should do it!" Wiping the sweat from his face, his attention hooked back to Rachel as he opened up a wide smile, savoring his victory. "Now," he said, "what was that about 'better off dying from that bomb'?"

Rachel failed to utter out anything and just stood there, arms crossed and rolling her eyes. _Well, at least this Thomas guy fixed the bomb...I still bet he won't last very long! That's a shame._

With the bomb reduced to a giant heap of scrap metal, many of the residents, along with Lucas, rushed over, amazed. Murmurs and clouds of conversation formed with everyone beholding the dead menace. Thomas had defeated both Burke and the bomb.

Lucas stepped forward. "Son. Of. A. _Bitch_! You did it, kid! That nasty nuke is dead. It's really dead," he smiled as he clapped. The applause soon spread to the rest of the people. "I can't thank ya enough. Here," he said as he tossed to Thomas a tan pouch. "I'm a man of my word! One hundred caps."

Thomas peeked inside to find it was full of bottle caps, as promised. He dipped a hand in and began to stir, clattering the caps together. "Well, thank you very much for these," he grinned. "I didn't really need to have payment, but it's greatly appreci-" he paused as he felt something that wasn't a cap in the pouch-pond of payment. His fingers plucked it out to find some sort of key and a green microchip. "A key? And a chip? What are these for?"

Lucas laughed, "the chip is the deed to your new home. Consider it a bonus. We could use someone like yourself staying here in Megaton. Think of it as serving as an example that there_ are_ still some good folk out there! Oh, and just program that chip into your Pip-Boy, and the deed to the house will be installed!"

The thought of where he would stay didn't even slip into Thomas' mind. He had yet to consider proper shelter in the Wastes, so passing up an offer this grand would be simply foolish. "Alrighty then, sherrif-slash-mayor Lucas Simms. You've got yourself another deal! Consider Megaton my new home." he posed.

Rachel's head shot up as she heard his announcement. Alarmed by the smile intruding on her face, she quickly looked away, scavenging for something to make her look busy and kill any attention that rose.

"Well that's great to hear, kid," Lucas commented, placing a hand on Thomas' shoulder. "And thanks again for downing the bomb. You helped us out bigtime with that lil' stunt." He shrugged, "but you could've screwed up and killed us all in the process, but somehow you found a way to extinguish all that pressure off ya."

The same thought captivated Thomas. "Yeah, I'm not exactly sure what, but something or someone helped me..." His eyes shifted over to Rachel.

Lucas allowed another laugh to break through as he pointed to something. "There it is, just up that rise. It's actually a nice place...by _our _standards, but I'm sure you'll find it to your liking!"

Thomas clicked the chip into his Pip-Boy. Swinging the key around with his finger in the keyhole, he nodded. "Alright, perfect. Yeah, I'm sorry. I know it's still early," Thomas sighed as he looked up at the setting sun, burning with the evening's orange, "but I've had a long day. You picked a great time to give me this," he joked, "because I am about to fall over. I need to get as much as possible after today!"

"Oh, I understand, kid. You've helped us a good deal with both Burke and that bomb! Thank ya kindly again, and I guess I'll see ya around tomorrow." Lucas held out his hand.

Thomas slapped his hand into place with Lucas' and shook. "You will. Thank you, Lucas. Take it easy." He was getting ready to head up to his new home, but he headed over to Rachel, picking out five bottle caps from his bag. He placed them in her hand and whispered, "thank you."

As Thomas strolled away, Rachel looked down at her hand, the five caps staring up at her. She called out to him, "get some sleep, Vault Rat!" She smiled and quietly muttered under her breath. "Thank _you_...Thomas..."

The click of the key unlocking the door granted Thomas access to his new home. Before he pushed the door open, he looked back at Megaton, his eyes flying across the enclosed landscape of rust encrusted buildings, the people walking up and down the platforms, and the bomb reduced to nothing but an empty shell. He smiled at his accomplishment. _This place doesn't seem bad at all_!

Thomas peered inside the door slowly creaked open. The exact same feel of dullness and lack of a pleasant atmosphere from Moriarty's Saloon lingered within, from the small fridge in the back to the dirt-crusted mattress upstairs. Small holes leaked from the metal walls as old lockers and shelves rested on them. With his eyes glancing up and down, here and there all across the house, Thomas began his own tour of his new home. Once it was over, he sighed and smiled. "Home sweet home..."

He felt like this would be the ideal time to store the supplies he took from the vault in the busted lockers, desks, and shelves. After a few minutes, the weight that burdened his Pip-Boy vanished. With his weapon safely stashed away in a locker, his jumpsuit put up, and the rest of his supplies stored, Thomas took a seat and flipped to the "journal" section of his Pip-Boy. Clicking the knobs, he shuffled through the most recent past dates for a few moments. Not a single entry since Thomas was fifteen was recorded. Just blank page after blank page filled the past few years of his life.

_I believe it's about time I start using this damn feature again_, Thomas decided. He pulled out the Pip-Boy's little keyboard and began typing away. Ten minutes slipped through the holes in his walls as his "intro entry" was completed. Leaping up in a futile attempt to grasp the ceiling, Thomas gave his muscles a good stretch.

Heading up the stairs, a thought was fired into his head. _I never checked that note that Jonas had! Maybe it says where Dad went..._ He dug through the files until he found "Message From Dad". Thomas pressed the play button as he headed upstairs.

"_Hold on, Jonas. I need to record this first_."Sure enough, it was the voice of his father. He was gifted with the tone of a loving human soul; it was voice one would struggle to forget. Thomas ascended up the stairs. "_I...I don't really know how to tell you this...I hope you will understand, but I know you might be angry_..."

"And you'd be right!" Thomas blurted out in frustration.

"_I thought about it for a long time, but in the end I decided it was best for you not to know. So many things could've gone wrong and there's really no telling how the Overseer will react when he finds out_."

Thomas found his anger was slowly getting the better of him as he continued to argue with the device on his wrist. Sarcasm seeped from his lips. "Oh, he was _pissed_. The whole vault went to hell as he tried to kill me!" By now Thomas was sitting on his bed, listening.

"_It's best if he can blame everything on me. Obviously, you already know I'm gone..."_

_"_Pfft...no kiddin'..."

"_It was something I needed to do. You're an adult now. You're ready to be on your own. Maybe someday things will change and we can see each other again. I can't tell you why I left or where I'm going. I don't want you to follow me."_

"Tough shit!" Thomas growled, staring up at the ceiling as he lay with his arms crossed.

_"God knows life in the vault isn't perfect, but at least you'll be safe. Just knowing that will be enough to keep me going._"

Another voice came on the recording. It was Jonas. "_Hey Doc, I don't mean to rush ya, but I think we should wrap this up. I'd feel better if we got this over with."_

_"Alright. You go on ahead. Thomas...goodbye...I love you!"_

Thomas rolled to his side and glared at the wall. He tried not to let the recording get to him, but its words pierced him like a spear. In the nineteen years of his life, Thomas always had his dad by his side, guiding him every step of the way. He always knew that sooner or later, he'd no longer have that hand to grasp onto, but he never imagined that one day everything would seem to be normal, and the next morning his whole world would be flipped upside down. For the first time in his entire life, Thomas was truly alone; confused, scared, and alone.

His body somewhat jerked as he began sobbing. Trying his absolute hardest to fight back any invading tears, he croaked out, "sometimes I wonder."

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_Tuesday. August 17, 2277 - 6:37 p.m / Day 1_

_I don't normally go to bed this early, but today has been one I won't soon forget. The thought that my life in the vault, my home for nineteen years, is over hasn't fully sunk in yet. I have Dad to thank for that. The whole vault tried to practically mount my head on a stake. There's no way that I would've escaped had it not been for Amata. She's always been a dear friend to me, and I can't thank her enough for saving me._

_Seeing as how my life has been flipped upside down so suddenly and I had no say at all in these changes, I guess I should chronicle my time in the Capital Wasteland. Who knows? Maybe it'll be worth a damn someday._

_So...my first thoughts of my first day in the Wastes: well I made it out of the vault in one piece. I had to kill someone to save my life today (I am not too proud of that, either). A psychopath named Burke. He wanted to blow up Megaton (the town where I am right now) using the bomb. I had to defuse that bomb before somebody else like Burke came along! I had some help downing that nuke._ _So, if you're somehow reading this, thanks Stanley. Your advice helped save a lot of people._

_I met alot of new faces today. Lucas, that Rachel girl, and some others. Hopefuly I can trust them to help me in my search for Dad, but only time will tell._

_I would continue typing, but like I said, today has been exhausting. I'm still amazed I'm actually alive! Sleep is calling me, so let's see how Thomas Michael Allen does in the Capital Wasteland! All I can say right now is "home sweet home."_

_Yup...home...sweet...deadly home._


	4. Chapter 4: Wadsworth

**Author's Note: Just a short little chapter that I made, because I had to inclued a character I've always liked in Fallout 3 for some reason: Wadsworth! Why? I don't know, he just makes me laugh. The joke that is said by Wadsworth was one I made up (if you don't get it and you really want it explained, let me know). It is the end result of being bored out of my freakin' mind in physics class (which is the bane of my existence!).**

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**Chapter 4 - Wadsworth**

The sounds of buzzing and whirling woke Thomas from his deep sleep. His head scraped itself from his pillow as he peered out of his bedroom doorway, the commotion continuing. The sounds of an electric voice could be heard humming. It sounded like it was coming from sort of radio.

"What the hell...?" Thomas groaned. His eyes felt crusted after just waking up. He slumped his arm over to look at his Pip-Boy's clock."Eight fifty-three?" he said, somewhat happy with how long he was able to rest. After yesterday, all he wanted to do was sleep, but the noise downstairs would ruin such an idea. In the end, he was happy with the hours he got.

Filled with reluctance, he roared a great yawn and dragged himself off of his bed and down the steps. The sun's rays sang through the holes and gaps of his walls. Thomas watched his feet slink down the stairs, eyes pried halfway open; the Sandman's sand was still buried deep within his vision.

What stood before him caught him by complete surprise. His morning eyes captured a silver ball with many metallic arms floating around and still humming in its static voice. Its main feature that hooked Thomas was the razor-sharp circular saw on one of its arms. The shiny silver monster had not yet noticed him and Thomas gasped at the thoughts of what was and what if it was sent to kill him from an unknown source.

Catlike, Thomas exploded out of his morning daze and raced for the locker containing his gun. As his footsteps clanked on the metal floor, the intruder spun around just before Thomas flung open the locker.

It slowly drifted towards Thomas. "Ah, young sir, I am honored to meet you!" it spoke in a happy and cheery radio voice, failing to see that Thomas viewed it as hostile.

By now Thomas had his weapon aimed right at what he felt was a yellow bullseye painted on the steel, floating octopus' body. Utter confusion slapped Thomas right across the cheek. "Who or what the hell are you and where are you from?!" he shouted, tightening his grip.

"Oh, please forgive me, young master. I haven't been given the chance to introduce myself. I am Wadsworth, your personal robotic butler. It is a pleasure to be able to serve you!"

"'Wadsworth'? You... you're not sent here to kill me?" Thomas interrogated. He could not avert his eyes from the gleaming saw.

"_Kill_ you? Heavens, no! Sherriff Simms sent me here. Oh, that reminds me! I have a message from him to you."

"A message?" Thomas slowly lowered his weapon, eyes still locked on his reflection on Wadsworth.

"Yes, good sir," Wadsworth said.

The happy English accent disappeared as Wadsworth began to speak in a low and familiar voice. It was Lucas. "_Hey, kid. I just wanted to say thanks again for helping us with that bomb! I can't begin to tell you how much easier I can breathe knowing that thing is truly dead. I know I already gave ya some money and a house, but I figured I'd give one last thing of payment. From the Megaton armory, this is 'Wadsworth'. He is here to help you around your new home and to serve you with anything. Take good care of him, and thanks once again!" _There was a zipping sound as the message ended.

"Is there anything I can help you with right now, young sir?"

Thomas looked at him and thought about the possibilities. He had the hook, he just needed to catch a fish from the pool of ideas. "Hmm... Can you get me a bottle of wat-"

The quick and swift sound of gears and water drops cut him off. Before Thomas even realized what happened, Wadsworth was holding water encased in a plastic bottle. "Certainly, sir! Here you are!"

Stunned, Thomas was dumbstruck by the speed of his request. "H-how did you do that?"

"Condensation collectors, my good sir. Need anything else?" Wadsworth had nothing but willingness to work.

Thomas was impressed, but still wanted to test him further. He set down the water and questioned, "what is... seven-hundred eighty nine point five divied by the square root of seventeen point three?"

Without a second in between, Wadsworth responded, "One-hundred eighty nine point eight one four three six seven eight...my good sir!"

"Okay..." Thomas playfully nodded, a grin coming along. He was confident that his next challenge would stump the bot. "Tell me a joke!"

There was a slight chuckle from Wadsworth, but he played along. "Two bowling balls are rolling down a hill, and one looks back to find a lonely baseball, sitting at the top of the hill. The bowling looks at the other one and says, 'hey, do you think that baseball could catch up with us?' The other turns to see the baseball and answers, 'maybe. He has potential!' "

As dumb as it was, the pun managed to make a few laughs punch their way through Thomas' mouth. "Heh. Not bad... not bad at all!"

"Need anything else?" Wadsworth asked.

Thomas was out of ideas that would actually have a chance at testing the robot. _Alright, he is legit. _Thomas smiled_, "_no thank you. I'm quite alright. Well, Wadsworth! It's a pleasure to have you serving me." He held out his hand, but a thought shot through his head after his hand was already out. _Please don't shake with the razor hand! Please don't shake with the razor hand! For the love of God, don't shake with the razor hand!_

"But of course!" Wadsworth slightly tilted forward, bowing. "It's what I'm programed to do, afterall, Mr. Allen."

Thomas pulled his hand back. He smiled inside at the thought that there is now something that actually takes orders from _him. _Thomas had survived the childhood struggle and frustration of doing what others told him to do. Now he felt it was his turn to be the boss. This was great for Thomas now that a window of opportunities exploded open for him.

"Please, call me Thomas." He headed for the door and turned back to Wadsworth. "I want to go walk around Megaton for a bit. just stay here and do whatever. I'll be back in a few hours."

"Of course, young sir! Don't let me keep you! I'll tidy up the place while you are out and about. Farewell!" the butler yelled, waving his arm with the razor circular saw.

Thomas waved back, shutting the door. The sun was now blazing above him, and its warming rays felt good on Thomas' skin. Megaton's rusted houses and buildings greeted their new hero. The smile on his face soon morphed into a look of confusion. "Tidy up?" he muttered, glancing back to the door_. But I just moved in... there's nothing to tidy up!_

Stumbled on the thought, Thomas decided to just shrug it off and walk down the ramp.


	5. Chapter 5: Dirty Work

**********Author's Note:************Meh. A little bit better with time, but I'm still not happy! Please let me know if these constant author's notes are getting annoying. If they are, I'll stop. The thought came to mind and now I feel like I must always say something, even if I can't think of anything. Oh, and as I said, I did get the centering problem fixed, so yeah!**

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**Chapter 5 - Dirty Work**

The sun irradiated above as Thomas trotted outside. He smiled as the day greeted him with a nice warm morning.

Everything that had unfurled in the past twenty-four hours seemed to be the time line of an entire week for some super hero. Thomas was amazed with all he had accomplished over the course of just one day.

Escaping from the Overseer, getting his first taste of the Wastes, saving a man's life with the gift of water, discovering a settlement that shrouded its inhabitants in protection from the Capital Wasteland's cruelty, meeting some new faces, winning his first gunfight with a crazy businessman bent on destroying Megaton, disarming a bomb, and finding a place to live while he looked for his father all certainly proved to be nothing short of eventful.

Needless to say, Thomas was feeling pretty pleased and even quite impressed with himself. He couldn't help but get another look at his latest and greatest triumph. The bomb lay dead in the distance, soaked in murky irradiated water. Thomas, still proud of himself, fired a fist into the air, raising his imaginary axe high. Mirroring the image of his comic book hero, Grognak the Barbarian, Thomas joked with his own heroics. The bomb was his slain dragon and the filthy puddle, its blood. After a few seconds the victory fist came crashing back down to his side along with Thomas' return to reality. He shuffled his eyes around, slightly embarrassed at his cheesy pose. _I really hope nobody saw that. _

Back down to earth, only one problem now faced him as he hopped down the stairs: he now had to continue searching for clues of his father's whereabouts.

Lucas was outside executing his daily patrols when he noticed Thomas. "Hey Mr. Hero," he greeted, "I heard that Moriarty was looking for you."

"Perfect," Thomas groaned, enthusiasm dead in his voice. The fight from the day before hinted to nothing but negative foreshadowing. _Shooting up his bar wasn't exactly the best of ways to introduce myself to someone. This will be anything but good... _after thanking Lucas he hurried up the steps to see what Colin wanted.

His walk was halted when Thomas noticed that the people would stop to thank him for what he had done and say hello, their faces painted with smiles. The cursed image of a typical outside wastelander, an ignorant stranger who only cared about himself and his desires, that plagued Thomas after his first steps into Megaton seemed to have evaporated. This stranger was now a friend. Little by little Thomas was feeling more and more welcomed into this scrap of a city because of his actions. If things continued this way, it was only a matter of time before he gained the entire town's respect.

Slapped in white paint, the wooden sign, "Moriarty's Saloon" towered above Thomas as he pushed his way through the creaking metal sheet, poorly serving as a door. The first thing Thomas noticed as he stepped inside was the great shadow cast by the industrial fan above the door. Its three blades took their sweet, clanging time rotating. The second thing that caught his eye were the bullet holes Mr. Burke had imprinted on the table Thomas had used as cover in their fight. And the third were the clumps of blood now staining into the cold metal floor.

Everything else was exactly like his first visit: tables dotted with cups and bottles of alcohol and drunks littering the first floor. Among the cloud of mixed conversations and arguments that swirled around Thomas' head, a voice managed to breeze through the noise. "You again?" said a man protected by a counter. "Come to shoot some more shit up?"

Thomas rolled his eyes and ignored the question. "Moriarty, right?"

In a fairly thick Irish accent, the man smiled. "Yes, I do believe that would be me, kiddo. Colin Moriarty, at your service. Now, again, did you come back to blast off a few more rounds into my place? A lot of work goes into trying to make a piece of crap look presentable, y'know."

"No, of course not," Thomas assured. "I was busy fighting for my-"

Moriarty snatched the air from Thomas' lungs with one swift wave of his thick and meaty hand. "Zip it, kid. I don't need to hear your 'valiant hero's excuse.' I know what you were doing, I know why you did it, and I understand. Besides, if ya came in here lookin' for a Ghoul or something for some target practice I'd let you blow a few holes into _that_ zombie, Gob, over there," he joked, pointing to a table where the butt of his joke sat, cleaning a cup.

"Yeah, yeah... fuck you, too..." grumbled Gob in scratchy voice, thousands of leagues deep. His eyes never left his cloth as he scrubbed and scrubbed away at the glass. The poor soul's image was now scared as a modern-day Frankenstein. His face, melted with dead skin, had two distorted eyes that poked out from his head. All of Gob's hair had been burned away in atomic fire and his whole body, head to toe, was drenched in a horrible vomit-green color that could only remind one of death. A heavy pair of olive pants and a tattered shirt of white did what they could to mask the skin on his arms, rough as an army of rocks, from the disgusted eye. He really was a living, breathing monster.

But was he truly a monster, or was he still a human? A monster kills without second thought nor remorse or pity for their victims**. **If this Gob was given a gun and a target, would he be so quick to pull the trigger and become another Mr. Burke? Maybe there was more of a human heart within something, or someone like Gob than there was in perhaps someone like Moriarty?

_A Ghoul..? _Thomas thought. "Whatever. I'm really here looking for any trace of my dad. Have you seen a middle-aged man with grayish brown hair? Glasses? He more than likely had a lab coat on."

Moriarty thought for a moment. "You wouldn't happen to be talkin' about James, would ya?"

There! A spark! Thomas lit up at the mentioning of that name. The next step in picking up the trail had revealed itself. "You've seen him?" Thomas jumped. "Please, Colin. You have to tell me where my father is!"

"Look, kid. I-" Moriarty stopped, mouth still open. A smile began to zip across his face as he processed this new bit of information. "Wait a minute," he grinned. "You're James' boy? Well I'll be damned; it's you!" Moriarty broke out in laughter, "the lil' bastard is now all grown up now and lookin' for Daddy, isn't he? 'Thomas' right? Sorry, but it's been a long time, kiddo."

Someone who Thomas just met claiming to know him? Very rarely a good sign, and Thomas wasn't buying it. "How do you know me?" he questioned. "I've never heard of you in my entire life and Dad never mentioned you!"

"I'm not surprised he hasn't," Moriarty calmly added, "it's all part of the brainwashin' process, isn't it?"

_Brainwashing? Bull... _Thomas still pondered the word and just shook his head in silence.

"Oh c'mon, kid!" he pushed, "you can't tell me ya fell for all of that crap! I know they've been crammin' it down your throat since your daddy put you in that prison, but open your eyes, lad!"

Thomas still didn't fully believe it, but the idea that what Moriarty was babbling about could possess truths. The thought that it was possible that everyone who wore a blue and yellow jumpsuit lied to him his entire life. He did not want such poison to fill his head. Banishing these thoughts excited Thomas to promote the urge to constrain the talk of such a subject. "Look, I don't want to hear anymore of this crap. I _know _where I was born and I _know _where I grew up. Don't preach to me this bullshit history lesson. I just want to find my dad."

Moriarty folded his arms and laughed. "First off, the last thing I am is a preacher and secondly, it's fine if ya don't believe me. You'll find out soon enough for yourself. It'll be a good subject to talk about if ya find Daddy!" he joked. "But I know 'Big Boy Thomas' is serious about traveling the 'Big Bad Wastes' to be a family again, so I'll be straight with ya."

"Finally..." Thomas groaned.

"Zip it, kid. Now listen: your dad _did _come through here, but not for very long. A quick in-and-out of Megaton and then off to do God-knows-what. And where did he go...?" he paused, soaking up all the anticipation he could like sponge. "Well I'm afraid this is where I will have to bookmark this story for now until you do something for me."

Disgust surged through Thomas due to the lack of a heart. "You've gotta be kidding me! All I'm asking for is some information, and you can't even give me that without some damn payment?"

"Hey, now calm down. I'm helping you by teaching the first rule of the Capital Wasteland_: _nothing is free. That includes information. That's pretty fair, I say. You do me a small favor, and I'll tell you where dear ol' Daddy flew off to. Deal?"

Thomas sighed, giving in. "Deal…"

A smile lit across the businessman's face. "Good, very good. Now, I hope you enjoy the company of raiders."

"Raiders…?"

* * *

The sun never hesitated to heat the Wasteland like a desert. It was just like his last venture out into this forsaken land. Springvale, a ghost town as always, poured its disturbing silence all across the streets and small buildings. The crying of the wind was the only sound that populated the filthy air. Thomas never was one for silence. He never liked the feeling of loneliness it created. "Silver!" he called out. His echoes reflected the answer. Thomas didn't expect a response, but he felt like it never hurt to just try.

Moriarty had sent him out to find some drugged up psychopath that goes by "Silver." She supposedly owed the man some caps for some reason, but Thomas didn't pay attention to those details. All that mattered to him is what he had to do to see to it that Moriarty held up his end of the bargain, even if that meant trekking to an elementary school to hunt down this junkie.

Thomas hurried down the road to get there. The school was in sight. Like its brothers and sisters throughout the Wastes, the building had certainly seen better days. Explosion holes were patched up and down the outer walls along with cracks. Even for an elementary school, this three story structure was quite large. The roof on the third floor was completely blown off, exposing the cracked chalkboards and decayed wooden desks to the sun's rays. Its walls stretched for the sky in disproportional sizes with half blown away windows like jagged teeth of stone. The sign out front read, "_Welcome to SP...NGV...LE ELEME...ARY!_" The whole scene wasn't very pretty to look at, and Thomas wanted to get this over with. Checking his Pip-Boy to make sure he still had his 9mm, he hurried to the main door, creaked it open, and stepped through.

The hunt was on.


	6. Chapter 6: Hide and Seek

**Author's Note:I was happy to get this one done. I'm slowly but surely getting better with time, so I hope you guys think I'm doing a bit better. Again, thank you for reading this far. I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

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**Chapter 6 - Hide and Seek**

The Pip-Boy's flashlight clicked on once Thomas stepped inside. Right away he found it difficult to believe that children actually roamed these halls at a time. With all of the busted up floor tiles and cracked walls in the first room it was a wonder that any normal person, let alone kids, would even consider coming near this piece of trash.

The entrance was a square room with a ceiling that reached up all three stories, but no walkways or points of access to the top two floors were visible. A large and rusted cage was plopped in the center of the room.

Thomas crept up to the cage and peered inside, the metal bars cold to the touch. Alarmed, he jerked out his 9mm at the sight of a stack of bones, drenced in dust. A chipped skull was nestled in the corner. Its empty eye sockets seemed to stare directly back at Thomas_. _What a greeting it was. This urged him to find Silver as quickly as time would allow. The remains that lay before Thomas created the image of this poor soul being caged like a rat by God only knows what and for God only knows how long. Whatever it was, this confirmed his fear that he wasn't alone.

The door to the eastern wall had been ripped off, exposing a long hall with busted lockers lined all the way down. Perhaps he could find something of use in one of them? The gun poked its silver nose through the walkway, loaded and eager to shoot something. Anything. Thomas' head followed, looking down the right side. Was there anything there? No, just a dead end. What about the left? Nothing more than the stretch of a long forgotten school left for time to orchestrate its slow decay.

_Damn, this is a pretty gloomy scene..._

There wasn't much to do but explore the school. Thomas walked down and eyed each dirty, cobweb-infested locker as he passed them by. Only a few badly burned books were hidden in them, but nothing of any real interest stuck out. Maybe something helpful resided in the next set?

_Nope. Nothing. _More useless junk was the repeating theme.

It took until the final three rows to find an item worth anything. What looked like to be some sort of shiny box relaxed in one of the bottom lockers. Thomas dropped to one knee and set his 9mm on the ground to investigate. Dressed in silver, it had rough ridges on the sides and a small opening perched on the top. The label read "The Clean Eats." To make things even more interesting to Thomas, this little device had an owner.

"Property of M. Brown" was etched on the back. Thomas laughed a bit. It was little funny to see something this high tech compared to the common assumption of finding something like a lunch box. _I bet I could find a use for this little guy_, Thomas though. He reached out to pick it up, but a loud bang startled him, its booming voice rang in his ears.

"Silver, you bitch!" a voice called out, "you come near my jet stash again and I'll blow your fuckin' head off!"

"Piss of," someone hissed back, "you can't be watching it all forever, you waste of breath!" The argument was followed by rapid footsteps that echoed through the corridor. A second or two later the steps were tapping even louder and Thomas watched as a woman wrapped in beige pants and a tight leather jacket ran by. Her destination seemed to be the flight of stairs on the right side of the hall perpendicular to Thomas.

Without even thinking he snatched up his pistol and chased after her, forgetting the food sanitizer. "No, wait! Stop!" he called out. She was already halfway up the stairs. Thomas had unknowingly made a big mistake. Leaving himself out in the middle of the hallway, he made his presence known to the person who was screaming at Silver. He could see Thomas as the sitting duck he was.

"Well look what we have here!" he sneered, clutching his double-barreled firearm. "Hey boys!" he called out, hoping any others heard him, "we have some fresh meat!" With hatred scorching in his eyes, he pumped his shotgun and was ready to fire at his prey.

Thomas frantically looked around for a place to take cover and dashed behind the stairs. He ducked as soon as his assailant shot at him. The loudness from the blast somewhat intimidated Thomas, forcing him to flinch at its power. This madman's shot was followed by the melodic ding of the used shell collapsing to the ground. As Thomas cowered behind the stairs, it was almost too much to just fight off ideas of panic and running for it. That would certainly get himself killed.

Memories of his fight with Mister Burke were returning. Thomas realized how lucky he got then. Unfortunately, Lady Luck seemed to be absent at the time; he was alone in this shootout. This man was much different than the smooth-talking Burke that hid behind a pair of sunglasses, too. A cracked hockey mask was latched onto his dark face. He was equipped in a rough leather harness that seemed to constrict his chest like a snake, shotgun shells nestled in its loops. While his armor didn't seem very durable, his shotgun was enough to make people like Thomas, armed only with a 9mm and clothed in a blue jumpsuit, think twice before confronting them head on. "C'mon out from back there, you little shit. I _promise _you a quick death..."

No one would be in any kind of hurry to obligesuch a request, and Thomas was no exception. He already slipped up once against this guy and he didn't plan on doing it again. Still, something had to be done. A school hallway is only oh so long, and he was creeping closer and closer with his shotgun. His footsteps and the daunting tone in his hate-filled voice hinted that he was no more than a dozen yards from Thomas.

Nothing helpful rested by Thomas as he sat behind the stairs. Time was running out! His search hastened. There had to something, anything, that he could use or think of. Was there something he could throw? It seemed hopeless, but then Thomas was gifted with an idea from above.

The lights! Yes, that could work. Even with their bright glow long dead, shooting the lights could still send glass, sharper than a politician's tongue, crashing down. If they'd do any kind of real damage was still unknown, but they could at least stage a nice distraction. All he needed was a second, maybe two, to get a clean shot on this trigger happy nut job.

_Wait for it...wait for it...just a little closer..._

His hand clinched his gun even tighter. This had to work. A few more measly steps would place the man right under his spotlight. Thomas leaned back slighty, careful as to not pop his head over his blessed cover. The dusty target hung from above, begging to be shot.

"I'm through playing games with ya," he called out, itching with frustration, "let's paint the wall with your guts!" No response. The irritated raider proceeded with his march.

_Almost there...wait...wait...now!_

With the squeezing of the trigger, Thomas' gun fired with a bullet that raced up. Within less than a second, the light exploded into a dazzle of glass shards that came screaming down. His plan worked; the raider flung his free arm up to guard his face from the jagged crystals. "Ah damnit!" he cried behind his mask.

That was all the time Thomas needed.

It only took two seconds and two cracks from the gun for two dots of blood to fountain from his chest. Thomas hit him right in the heart and he fell over with a thud, not a cry in pain nor another profanity uttered. He just lay there spread out with the glass stabbing him in the back.

Thomas heaved a sigh of relief; he got to keep his head. Looking down at his second victim, he shook his head and thought for a bit._ Better get used to the sight of blood.._. Even if it was in defense he was still a bit bothered by the idea of actually killing. It felt uncomfortable to see a second scarlet soaked corpse he had made. It was no longer a human being, but now an empty shell with dead eyes that glared up at the broken light, staring into the deep and vast nothing. No doubt it would still take more time for him to get used to the kill or be killed policy of the Capital Wasteland, but having pity on two people who tried to end his life still felt pretty strange. It didn't make much sense, but hopefully the softness that was created behind the steel walls of Vault 101 would wither away after awhile. A life of isolation from the outside world can do that.

Thomas would certainly need it to go away.

Perhaps a good way of doing that was to change his outlook on the situation? Instead of looking at this kill as another burden on the weary mind, why not eye it as another victory? Yes, of course! Burke and this raider were obviously out of their minds, so maybe the world will be much better off without the likes of them anyways.

Thomas' attention was now moved to the enticing shotgun that lay clutched in the raider's hand. All that firepower packed into such rusted greatnesswould be a nice asset. Holstering his 9mm, he stepped into the pool of scarlet and bent down to retrieve his new prize. Its weight was enough to hint just how much of a punch this shotgun packed. All of that new power felt good in his hands. Glimpsing again at the fresh corpse, Thomas smiled. Referring to his new weapon, he heard himself utter, "mine."

His time of this triumph was short lived, for Thomas could hear even more people prowling around the far corner. They were getting louder and the tone was certainly not a happy one. _What? More of them?_

"Yeah, man. I heard the shots come from over here..." Four immense shadows were splashed onto the far wall. They were getting bigger and it looked like they, too, had guns.

"Oh, is there a rat scurrying through here?"

"Well if there is let's snap its little toothpick neck," a third voice haunted the hall with its echo. They sounded just as foul and nasty as the one Thomas just dropped, if not worse.

Was now the time for Thomas to try out his new toy and shoot first, ask questions later, or would it be smart to run and head up the stairs to catch up with Silver? In just a few seconds it'd be four against one. Time to make another decision.

What could Thomas do, fight or flight?

"Anybody home?" one called out as he turned the corner with an old and beaten up rifle raised. He was dismayed to see there was nothing alive to shoot. With a disappointed grunt he dropped his gun back to his hips. His friends ran up as the four became witnesses of the dead body on the other side. The blood was the first thing that caught their eyes, and they hurried over to get a closer look. Closer to Thomas, as well.

As they huddled around the body like vultures, Thomas framed himself back behind the staircase, not moving a muscle as he sat. He wouldn't even dare to see what they looked like. With his whole body tensing and his finger slung around his shotgun's trigger even tighter, he closed his eyes, mouthing the words, "Just...go...away...go...away..."

"Well, lookee here," the first raider sneered. "It seems liked we _do _have some company after all!"

"Yeah, but it looks like Jackie, here, already found that out in his own way!" The four roared in a savage laughter.

Such a chorus of horrible amusement struck Thomas right in the gut. His heart plopped to his feet and he wanted these guys to leave even more. And yet, despite his worry of being caught, he remained surprisingly calm as he hid. With slow and deep breaths that were buried beneath the raiders' riotous joking, his patience hung in there and his nerves were soothed for the time.

The raiders did not let up with the insults that were being spat upon the dead. One of them stomped on Jackie's empty arm with his boot. "Oh, and look at this..." he grinned, "it seems as if our lil' rat snatched up his favorite gun! Imagine if Jackie knew that this asshole took his pride and joy..."

"Look!" another shouted as an evil smile sprouted across his face. He started kicking the corpse as it slung to its side, limp like a rag doll. "He's rollin' in his grave already! Bahaha!" A predicted eruption of their terrible laughter trailed right behind; Jackie was now face down in his blood.

Another chimed in with a chuckle."Hehe. Well it seems as if our rat has some claws. That just makes things more interesing, I say. We'll snuff him out, and when we do..." he said, running his finger up and down his weapon. It was an old kitchen knife, its teeth were jagged and dull, shine deceased from the blade. "We'll mount his head on a stake. Now let's go put poor ol' Jackie's jet supply to good use."

As their footsteps and boisterous merriment faded away, Thomas loosened up and took a deep breath. Sweet relief swam through his blood stream; he had gotten lucky yet again. He celebrated his small victory of dodging another bullet with a smile, quietly resounding his self-satisfaction. But he decided to do the smart thing and wait another minute or two before sticking his head back out... just to be safe.

While he waited, he pondered about how obvious it was how little raiders cared for one another. It made sense to Thomas. Sure, they'd more than likely back each other up in a firefight, work together on some hunt, or even have too much fun in the torture of some unfortunate wastlander, but did they really believe in the idea of brotherhood? If a chest of caps appeared from the vast nothing in front of all the raiders, how many of them would have knives in their backs? These guys preferred to spell "team" with an "I," no doubt.

Thomas sure hoped that these were the lowest forms of life in the Wasteland. Then again, was it even _possible_ to be more classless or void of compassion than this first impression of raiders? Probably, but a two-day Wasteland rookie wasn't much of a judge, but if there were people or creatures with such a disregard for kindness, Thomas wasn't dying to meet them.

That minute seemed to slug by. Thomas felt like he was back there for ten minutes, waiting for safety. His hand rested on a step as his head peered out from behind the staircase. Of course Jackie was still dead, but aside from his cadaver nothing else was in the hallway. Good. With shotgun latched on his back and 9mm raised, Thomas crept out from his little haven. He wanted to go back for that Clean Eats device. He rounded the corner going back for it. It was still in the same place as it was. Thomas picked it up and stored the device in his Pip-Boy.

_Now where was I? _He stared blankly the wall, trying to remember what he was doing. It took a moment for the thought to jolt back in his brain, but when it did, his eyes widened_. _

_Oh shit! Silver! _


	7. Chapter 7: The Principal

**Author's Note: Please let me know if I used the phrase "the raider" a bit too much during the combat scenes. When I was writting this, it felt a little bit too repetitive at times... or maybe I'm just being overcritical. Anyways, thanks very much for your patience. So here is chapter 7!**

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**Chapter 7 - The Principal**

Thomas hurried up the stairs, cursing himself for letting Silver get so far ahead of him. He needed to be able to move a lot faster in the future, but for now the best form of punishment was to mouth a quick "damn it!" and move on. He quickly rounded the corner with his 9mm raised. The second floor waited for him.

His eyes peered out from the stairway. Everything seemed alright. There were no weapon-wielding maniacs for the time, so there was a good sign. The second story was very identical to the first. Rows of lockers, cracked walls, and little to no light still made their home on the next story of the academic ruins. The only big difference? More open rooms.

He really wanted to, but Thomas knew that calling out Silver's name could, and probably would, be a bad idea. He was still a bit spooked by his earlier encounter and wanted to avoid attracting other raiders for as long as he could. Despite that idea, it was only a matter of time before the nineteen year old would have to go through it again and he knew it. He was on their grounds after all.

The hallway had a haunting silence to it that taunted him. The vault was always vibrating with the buzz and chatter of people. Very rarely was there any quiet time for Thomas or his dad. Even then Thomas wasn't one for the stillness of silence. He was always comforted by the sounds of activity. When he was surrounded by such lively noises, it made him feel safer.

Thomas pressed on, keeping his gun ready for anything. His boots crunched on the broken teeth of glass that lay on the floor. Worried if it was too loud or not, he tried his hardest to just ignore it. Most of the doors had already been broken off, so it was very convenient for Thomas to be able to just turn to his left or right and give each room a quick glance, looking for anything of interest.

Several empty minutes rot by and Thomas grunted in frustration. Empty room after empty room still had no answer, no clues of where the drugged-up reject ran off to. All that resided inside were toppled desks, books scattered everywhere, and cracked chalkboards. He was beginning to lose patience but kept a firm grip on his determination. It didn't matter to the teenager why Silver owed Moriarty money. Thomas just wanted this little outing to come to an end as soon as it could. Yes, there were still raiders patrolling this place, but there was no way of telling how long it had been since civilized people roamed these decrypted halls. _Are all the buildings out here this depressing?_

To kill time, he took a quick look at his Pip-Boy's storage system, remembering the item he picked up downstairs. _Who is "M. Brown"? _he wondered. _If this person's in Megaton I should probably return this to him or her if, no...when, I get back._

A loud screech sliced at his eardrums. Thomas winced in pain. Squinting his eyes he placed his open hand on his head in an attempt to soothe the pain. "What the hell," he grumbled.

When he looked up again he could hear a distorted and masculine voice filling the hallway with its message. "_Hello, douche bags and douche bagettes_!" it began with a dirty tone only matched by that of a heartless raider. _"This is your one and only 'Principal' Barnes, asking to have your undivided attention…if you'd please." _There was an obvious sarcastic presence that fluttered behind his words._ "Enjoying another day of raping and killing? Yeah, me too...me too..."_

Thomas aimed his gun straight down the length of the hall, expecting someone to emerge from a hiding spot. There was no physical being to match the voice he was hearing. He was still alone upstairs, but his search for the source led him to discover a box with four horizontal slits clinging to the wall. _Well I'll be damned. The intercom system here still works?_

The voice continued "_Now, I don't know if you're aware of this, but my boys found Jackie taking a nap in his own blood. Oh, and to make things even more interesting, we confirmed that nobody here is responsible for the kill. That's right, we have some company! Now I'm pretty sure you assholes know how we treat guests, let alone uninvited ones. I don't know why the hell he came all the way out to our happy little home, but see to it that he doesn't leave. Teach this little bitch a lesson. The more pain you inflict will knit you more money. It's as simple as that: more blood, more caps. I'll give you one thousand- that's right, one thousand- caps for his head. We're comin' for ya, kid... Happy hunting, fuckers!" _With a laugh he shut the intercom system off, the buzz of dead air taking control.

The first idea that sprouted from Thomas' instincts was to duck and hide again, but now there was no point in doing so. Since his presence was bugled so gracefully, every brutal raider in the school would soon flood the second level's halls, guns blazing. It was a bit odd to the teenager that no one else was up on his floor. As surprising as it was, he was thankful he was the only soul there for the time. The reality was that wouldn't last long. Thomas believed he could take on one, two, maybe even a few more foes with some luck, but a giant cluster of raiders was suicide. "Silver!" he screamed. No answer, but the sounds of shouting and laughing below intensified. "Damn it! Silver!"

Thomas grunted in frustration. He was about to keep going and press the search, but the sound of banging metal forced him to swing around. He could hear a lone raider racing up the stairs and firing a handgun, laughing with glee at his thoughts of killing Thomas and claiming his much-deserved reward. Thomas quickly side-stepped behind the doorway of one of the classrooms and waited for him to come. As the banging got louder and louder, Thomas readied his 9mm.

Once the raider revealed himself Thomas wasted no time leaping out from behind the wall and shooting two rounds into his chest. The leather strap wrapped around his upper body didn't help protect him at all. The brute toppled over with nothing more than the sounds of gunshots calling out to everyone. Each raider that Thomas killed only stirred the hornets' nest further._ I need to slow them down before more show up! _

A quick glance around the room gave Thomas a small idea. He holstered his gun and quickly grabbed two school desks, one in each hand. He strained a little bit, but several years of playing baseball and at least making the effort to stay in shape back in the vault assisted in his strength. _Good thing the stairs are funneling them through here_. With the ancient desks in his hands, Thomas ran to the staircase but immediately zipped back behind the wall as a bullet came ripping past his shoulder.

Shaking off the scare, Thomas swung himself around the wall and hurled the desks down below, shouting. The joining of heavy metal and wood tumbled down the stairs with a roar of violent percussions. He didn't stay in front of the stairway long enough to observe his results. As he turned and fled Thomas could hear the streams of cursing erupting from the raiders that stood in the desks' way. Even more precious time had been given to him and Thomas raced down the hall, taking advantage.

"Silver!" he tried again, knowing it was almost pointless. A room came into view he had yet to try looking in. Perhaps she was in there? Thomas rushed inside, his heart plummeting to his boots. "No…" There laid out on the cold floor was the fresh corpse of a woman. Knife wounds sliced open small parts of her chest, fresh blood leaking out.

All the years of substance abuse left their marks all across her face and the rest of her body. There were several wrinkles that dripped down the sides of her sunken cheeks. Scratches and bruises were burned into both of her arms. With rips and tears on various parts of her old pants and shirt, her clothes were almost as neglected as her body was.

Thomas found it difficult to have pity on the death of someone like Silver. For a start, they never met before and he only chased after her on business matters. She demonstrated all the signs of a low life: drug usage, self-neglect, and associating with raiders. It was clear that had someone not have stabbed her now, it was only a matter of time before she ended up killing herself. _Yeah, it's sad, but she was probably on borrowed time anyways. _

There was no time to grieve for this stranger. Footsteps rapping up the stairs could be heard and Thomas needed to hurry. Another issue that was brought to his attention, regardless of if he obtained the caps or not, were his means of escape.Raiders were everywhere, so he quickly formulated a small plan of action: grab the caps, gun down any pursuers, and since there was no way Thomas had a chance at leaving out the front, the only option was to retreat to the third floor and…improvise. He dropped to one knee scanned his hand all across her body, feeling for any indication of a small bag with the caps concealed somewhere. He dug in her pockets to find nothing but emptiness. Frustration quickly burned within as he felt nothing. _Where the hell is the money? Damn it! _

Maybe Moriarty lied to him? Perhaps Colin just sent Thomas on some wild goose chase throughout the school in the hopes of getting this newcomer quickly killed by a pack of raiders? Thomas was growing worried that that was a growing realization. _He better not have screwed me over. No…no someone must've taken it. _That was the most logical solution Thomas could conjure up. There was no choice but to venture up to the top and hope the thief fled to the third and final floor.

"_We know he's up there! Go!_"

As Thomas gave Silver's corpse one last glare, he stepped back out into the hall. A trio of raiders finally stormed up the stairs.

He reacted and quickly swung around a corner to take cover before the first bullets departed from their weapons. One of his attackers rushed forward with a knife, jumped around the corner, and slashed at Thomas. The barbarian was moving too quickly and was too close up for Thomas to get any clear shot. Evading several uncontrolled swipes aimed for his torso, Thomas saw an opening that left him off balance. Capitalizing, he delivered a right hook with the butt of his pistol across his cheek. The blunt thud beat a pain-filled cry out of the raider and as soon as he stumbled back, Thomas dropped him with two rounds, one in the head and one in his chest.

Now that he killed one out of the three, he had a small bit of time to think of how he was going to deal with the other two. Taking cover from the gunfire, a new idea kicked him in the back. In fact, it was _on_ his back. _I think now would be a good time to try out my new shotgun! _He quickly holstered his 9mm and equipped his new brass boomer. All that was left was to keep his head down and wait for the two to drain their entire clips. His waiting paid off as he could hear the anticipated _click-click-click_ from the exhausted guns.

As soon as the two ran out of ammo, Thomas jumped on the opportunity presented to him. With the shotgun in his two hands, Thomas exposed himself from his hiding spot, aimed for the one on the left, and squeezed the trigger. The crackle of the shotgun round thundered throughout the hall. Blood blossomed forth from his victim's chest and he flew back with a cry, but the recoil was worlds more than what Thomas expected. A quick surge of pure power raced up Thomas' arms and forced him to step back.

As off balance as the shotgun left him, Thomas had to turn his attention to the final raider who had just finished reloading; seeing his "comrade" fall encouraged him to act quickly. Thomas quickly aimed and fired once more, struggling to absorb the blow of his weapon again. With all three of his enemies lying dead before him, Thomas was certainly happy with the firepower he possessed. Sure, its range wasn't fabulous and one would have to reload after just two shots, but there was no doubt that it packed a hell of a punch. Thomas knew that if he could learn to control the gun's recoil, he could really do some damage with it. _That first guy I killed downstairs seemed to handle it so easily. Hopefully I can get a better handle of it in good time. _

With the three dead and nowhere to go but up, Thomas slung his gun back over his back and ran down the ruined hallway for the next staircase. It wouldn't be long before others would soon follow and he wanted to hurry.

Another static-filled screech ripped through the corridor and Thomas groaned in irritation. _"Guess who, jerk-offs…" _Barnes began. "_I must say that I am quite disappointed that you all have yet to put an end to our problem. No one has brought me his head yet and I can't sleep at night, knowing that there's an intruder still running about and fucking up our home. Now come one, people. I thought you were cold-blooded killers. How fuckin' hard is it to swat one fly?" _His sarcasm was beginning to decay and his voice hinted to growing impatience. "_Listen," _he continued, beginning to struggle with keeping his cool, _"I'm done screwing around with this kid! I want some damn results sometime between now and immediately"! _

_"Do I have to wave more caps in your faces? Hmph, fine. It just so happens that that bitch, Silver, has…left us, if you know what I mean. I dropped her and took some shiny caps for myself. There's quite a few of them, and they can go to the lucky hunter who can kill this kid."_

Thomas rolled his eyes in frustration. _He has Silver's money? Crap. _

_"Don't let ol' Barnes down again. I want this little pain in the ass dead. Make him suffer. And I know you can hear me, kid. You aren't welcome here! Do you know how it feels to have a blade of cold steel slice through your guts? You'll soon learn. There's no way out of here alive! You can't go back down and I'll run you through if you come up here. Face it, you're fucked! Bahahaha!" _Barnes clicked his intercom off and the hiss subsided, leaving Thomas with silence again.

Thomas stared at the box hooked on the wall, nothing disrupting his gaze. He was trying his hardest to shake off the intimidation behind the sting of Barnes' verbal assault. He could've been just spouting a bunch of crap, but on the other hand, this guy could be the real deal. Barnes certainly had the voice to sound scary and disguise his image as an unstoppable monster that could waste Thomas without breaking a sweat, or he could just be all talk. Regardless, Thomas wished he didn't have to take that chance with a confrontation with him. He grunted knowing that he'd have no choice. After all that had happened in the school, Thomas refused to crawl back to Moriarty empty handed, and Barnes now had what he needed.

Barnes supervised his happy little home from the top of the school on floor number three. All that kept Thomas from his target was a door that loomed over a second staircase. With nothing to stop him, Thomas trotted to the stairs, determined to obtain his ticket out of there by any means necessary.

The metal staircase echoed tap after tap is his boots pounded his way up them. This seemed like the perfect time for a raider to be right behind him. Thomas had killed the other three less than a minute ago, and already it seemed like another enemy was due to emerge and stand in his way. Before opening the door at the end of the steps, he swung around, 9mm raised to the sound of even more coming.

Thomas jumped back down from the steps to take cover behind a wall in front of the stairs, breathing heavily. He kept getting lucky with his shots, but that didn't eat at the fear he was feeling. He knew he was scared but surprised, no, shocked, that he had actually made it this far without even getting hurt. His instincts were carrying him through the day…or he was getting lucky again?

"_Kill the little bastard!_"

Bullets immediately ripped past his cover no more than several feet away and as soon as they stopped, he poked out to observe how many he was going against this time. He counted five, dropping two with three quick shots, then quickly retreating behind his barrier. Holstering his 9mm, Thomas wanted to give his shotgun another go. He quickly popped open the gun's extractor and saw he only had one shot still loaded. Thomas quickly stuffed a shell he scrounged in and clicked his double-barrel back into the ready position. Three raiders needed to be killed with only two shots. Another quick plan was blueprinted in his brain to deal with this problem. _This better work._

Holding fire, the raiders were still advancing closer, so to see Thomas sprint out toward them with his shotgun raised caught them by complete surprise. When would anyone fighting raiders ever do something so stupid? They jerked their weapons up to shoot and fired wildly. Thomas bolted to the side, avoiding their fire and grappling his weapon with as tight of a grip as he could squeeze. The first shot boomed from his gun, hitting one of his enemies in the chest, causing him to fly back dead. The recoil was more controlled, but it still hurt as it punched Thomas in the side of his chest. There was no delay in between his shots as his second round thundered, bursting his next victim's head into a blossoming of blood and chunks of brain. _Two more down, one more to go, _Thomas thought, turning his attention to the last enemy. _But no more shots…_ It was all happening so fast that his body was thinking several seconds ahead of his mind; the fighting instinct was giving him more confidence. He clenched his free hand into a fist and Thomas fired a punch.

The attack was blocked; his foe caught his fist in his hand and hurled a kick that smashed into Thomas' stomach. With such a blow right into his gut, Thomas dropped his shotgun and shouted in pain as he could feel all the breath yanked away from his desperate lungs. With all the lucky shots- all of the _lifesaving_ shots- he had been getting, it was only a matter of time before a raider got a good hit in on him. Paying the price, the teenager collapsed to the floor with a thud. His opponent, a disciple of cruel brutality, slowly approached his new kill, excited that he'd be the one end this annoyance.

Thomas gazed at the assault rifle that gleamed in the raider's hands. In these several days, Thomas had escaped death on a few occasions, but this was the closest he was coming to the chilling horror of his demise; Death's door was swinging wide open. A quick retaliation was needed for Thomas get out of yet another jam. In his panic, he quickly reached for his 9mm and brought it up to aim at the raider once he got a good grip on his last weapon.

Before the pistol could let a bullet scream free from its barrel prison, the raider had already dropped his boot on his victim's hand, kicking away the only thing Thomas had left to defend himself with. The raider brought his boot down on Thomas' chest. The assault rifle hovered over his new kill, waiting for the squeeze of its trigger. "Let's splatter that brain of yours all over the floor," he laughed with a sinister grin.

Thomas' heart sank to his boots as he reflected on his critical mistake several moments ago. He had gotten away with a lot of things, but now it seemed as if he was going to pay the ultimate price. No, it couldn't end this way. He still had to find his father, James. There were so many things to ask him…so many reasons to yell at him. Thomas had gotten passed so many things already in his quest and despair ripped at his heart as he was learning that it was going to be all for nothing; he had failed, and his life was going to end in the forgotten ruins of an elementary school.

Thomas found his gaze attracted to the raider's finger as it was getting ready to squeeze the trigger. His eyes quickly shut tight as his whole body tensed, a icy chill surged through his veins, and his heart skipped a beat. Hell, it wouldn't be long before it would stop beating altogether. That final split second of his life seemed to last forever; the wait was killing him and he wanted it all to end already.

_Click-click-click._

"What? Are you fucking kiddin' me?" spat the raider, frantically searching for another ammo clip.

Thomas opened his eyes and looked up, flabbergasted. He couldn't believe that out of all times that a raider were to run out of ammunition, this would be it. His prey is defenseless and has no hope left…and he runs out of bullets? It seemed too amazing to believe. Thankful for such a blessing of serendipity, Thomas regained his will to fight back. With a direct punch to the raider's shin, Thomas ignored the cry in pain and pushed the brute back, springing to his feet. The teen charged forward and rammed the raider into the wall. Thomas didn't let up, landing punch after punch and didn't giving him any time to recover.

After firing a left hook that made solid contact with the chin, Thomas noticed the raider had a combat knife sheathed at his side. He quickly reached in and yanked it out, stabbing wildly. The raider dropped his arms, his rifle plunging to the ground. He moaned behind the sound of the blade furiously piercing flesh.

When Thomas ripped the knife out its blade was slathered in the bright red color he was growing more and more used to. For his finishing blow, Thomas launched a final right hook and clocked his enemy right in the jaw. The raider's face snapped to the side and he collapsed to the cold ground, landing on his side. Thankful that he had survived yet another close call, Thomas stored his new knife in his Pip Boy and recollected his weapons. His footsteps echoed as he continued back down the hall, leaving the raider to bleed away with the rest of his dead allies.

The raider moaned, trembling violently just to lift his head slightly up. "Little…little…bitch," was all he could extract from his blood-gargling throat. His weakening body could no longer keep his head up and he slammed back to the ground without another word.

Thomas looked up at the door while zipping to the top of the staircase. He looked back one more time to make sure there wasn't anyone else present to give him more of a hassle. He let out a deep sigh in relief that no one seemed to be coming. Once he got his hand on the door's handle he heard a voice raging back from the first floor. "_You can't be serious!" _he screamed._ "Barnes is gonna kick our asses if we don't kill this kid! Go! Go!"_

Thomas swung the door open and jumped through, ignoring the warm blast of sunlight irritating his eyes. It was very fortunate for him that a small metal pipe was leaned next to the door at the time. He quickly snatched it and slid it through the handles on the door, barring it as secure as he could get it. He was doing everything he could to stay ahead of the raiders hunting him down, using everything given to him to buy time. Hiding, throwing the desks, and now sealing the door did what they could to keep him from getting overwhelmed. _I just hope they don't try to shoot down the door, _he pondered as he turned around to see what all was left of floor three.

With the school's roof blown off Thomas could see the sun shining above once again. It still gazed down upon the Wasteland from very high up. After being in the dark so long it was great seeing the sun again, but he knew that he was not finished with his business yet. The teen equipped his 9mm and reloaded his weapon with a new clip, cautiously looking around. Barnes could've been anywhere.

He aimed his gun everywhere and watching for any sudden movements. There were plenty of fallen walls and cracked chalkboards Barnes could spring out from. His eyes shifted left and right, knowing he wasn't alone. "Show yourself," he muttered. Thomas' curiosity ignited when he came across a little station set up near the opposite wall. It clearly stood out from the wrecked and ruined atmosphere that surrounded it. In fact, the setup looked brand new. Thomas slid over to investigate.

It was just a small desk with a ham radio perched on top with a microphone. A slight buzz still hummed from within. _Hmm. This must be what Barnes used to broadcast throughout the school. _He unplugged the microphone and picked it. It didn't take him long to conclude that there was nothing extraordinary to see and he set it back down.

A tapping came from behind Thomas and he started to jolt around to see what this disturbance was. His eyes only got a split second glimpse at the dull leg of a classroom desk being brought down upon his head with blinding speed. Before Thomas could do anything to counter the ambush a horrible pain hammered at him right on the side of his head. He thudded to the ground in a daze. Grunting in his disorientation, the vault runaway gazed up at the sky. The world around him was dissolving into blurs and smudges. Within several seconds his entire world had faded to black, breaking away from all consciousness.


	8. Chapter 8: An Angel In the Wastes

**Author's Note: I slipped a little Pink Floyd refference for anyone who can point it out. If my memory serves me well, I think this is the first big one on one fight scene I've ever written so please be sure to let me know how I did! Here's Chapter 8 as a reward for being the most patient people on the internet.**

* * *

**Chapter 8 – An Angel In the Wastes**

A world of red was what Thomas opened his eyes to. The dripping of his blood stained its deep color into his vision and burned his eyes. Groaning, he sluggishly lifted his head up to relieve himself of the stinging irritation. An immense amount of pain pounded at his skull from the blow he took. The thick scarlet finally faded away, but his world was still a swirl of distorted blurs spinning. Was he still on the third floor? When he looked up in his daze to see the sky still dangling the sun high overhead, his still half-brained head concluded that he had to still be outside. The teenager's eyes began to water when they were caught looking up at the giant, outward explosion of the sun's luminosity. The lids of his eyes slid shut and he looked away.

His senses were slowly starting to return to him. The details of the floor, walls, and all around him were restored and he saw that he was sitting in an old chair in the middle of the third floor. Thomas' ears stopped ringing and he regained control of his limbs. He quickly brought his arms up to his head, trying to soothe the bloody wound.

_Why…why didn't he try to kill me right there and then? _Thomas thought. _Didn't he want me dead? _He grunted as the pain resonated within his head as a punishment for turning his back to the open.

It was another dumb mistake he was paying the price for. Barnes had gotten the drop on him and Thomas had no time at all to react effectively. Such reflexes failed to even come close to matching those of the seasoned fighter's. A voice began to fill his ears. It was his familiar ambusher, but this time there was no static coating his words. His anger now came out very clear.

"_You all disappoint me. Really, I'm embarrassed. None of you could kill one brat? Are you serious? Are you fuckin' serious?" _Barnes shouted into his microphone._ "I honestly don't know what else to say to that. And here I was, sitting on my ass and thinking that if I promised caps, you'd take him down without a problem. I sure as hell was wrong. Shit, not only did you let him walk about, he wandered all the way up here! So fuck you and fuck your caps! You aren't getting anything. I'm gonna have to deal with this problem myself!" _

The boss slammed the mic down and turned to his captive, struggling to hide his frustration. It could've been just as easy to put a bullet in his head or a blade in his gut and be done with it, but it wasn't every day that prey came along with this much fight in it.

Sure, he obviously wasn't going anywhere. Barnes had him right where he wanted him, but it was still shocking that this kid, probably not even twenty years old yet, made it through his academic stronghold without any kind of serious injury. Were his "students" getting soft or was there something special to this kid? More importantly, what exactly was he doing here? No one is stupid enough to go wondering the Wastes alone like this without a deep purpose. Maybe he just got lost? Someone with a vault jumpsuit splashed in a bright blue and boots didn't belong in such an environment. His attire stood out from the rags and tattered clothing of the typical wastelander. What did this kid want?

Barnes rolled up an old school chair and placed himself in front of Thomas with a dark chuckle. When Thomas finally looked up Barnes began to speak. "You're good, kid," he started. "Either that or my boys and girls are getting more and more pathetic at killing."

Thomas' face darkened and he remained silent. He just stared back at the brute, eyeing the white scar that scraped down Barnes' left cheek. All of his hair was gone and the only spec of colorful life in him were his deep green eyes. He didn't wear any kind of tough leather armor that the others did. He only wore a pair of boots and very heavy military pants. Old cuts slashed their way down his arms and the rest of his hardened upper body, each bigger than the last. There was no telling how many battles and killings Barnes had participated in.

The lack of a response nicked at Barnes' patience. A grunt rolled out from his throat. "Cat got your tongue? We should've ripped it out by now… Do you have some sort of death wish, vault boy? Mindlessly wandering to a place like here? You're just _begging _to be slaughtered and gutted like a fish. That…or…" Barnes teased, "or you want something from us…"

"Where are Silver's caps?" Thomas demanded, not taking his anger-filled gaze off of Barnes.

"Money?" Barnes cracked. "_Money _is why you're here?" He exploded into a mocking, boisterous laughter. The principal held up a small sac, bottle caps rattling inside. "Lookin' for this? Hmph! Silver was trash. These are mine now and from the looks of you, you've got plenty of money back in your vault. Big mistake. You should've stayed with the rest of those assholes. I've got something planned for you, kid."

Thomas never took his eyes off of the man when he stood up and walked away. He was prepared for anything. If Barnes decided to quickly turn around and charge him or pull out a knife, Thomas would be ready to react. His body tensed up as he anticipated his captor's next move. What bothered him was how calm Barnes looked as he retreated back to his desk with the radio. His vulnerability didn't seem to bother him. With his back turned to Thomas, it was difficult to see what Barnes was reaching for. Regardless, Thomas was aware that this was an ideal time to attack…if only he knew what Barnes had done with his weapons.

Barnes returned wearing an iron mask, gripping a sword in his off-hand and a new weapon of some sort in the other. Thomas couldn't look away from what appeared to be a small, handheld chainsaw. Its chain slid all the way across the blade, teeth lined up one right after the other.

"You ever seen a ripper before, kid?" Barnes muffled behind his mask. "You've been a hell of a thorn in my side. You come to _my _place uninvited, you roam _my _halls, you kill _my _students, and now you come to _me _asking for money _I _obtained despite all that bullshit?" The muscles on his arm tightened as he squeezed the weapon's small trigger. The chain spun rapidly and it roared with mechanical fury. "For all of that, I'll make sure that this is the only one you ever see!" He lunged forward, eager to slice Thomas in half.

The teenager was ready for his attack this time. To counter Barnes' charge, he rolled to the left and fell out of his chair, gripping his seat mid-fall. When he hit the ground and landed on his rear, the chair was launched at Barnes without much power behind it due to Thomas' position. The projectile wasn't meant to do much damage but it did give Thomas the few seconds he needed to spring to his feet. Barnes brought his sword arm up to guard against the chair. He grunted from the minor blow as it struck his side and laughed behind his mask. In an attempt to cut fear into Thomas, Barnes held out the ripper in a little display. His gaze shifted to the chair on the floor and he sliced into it, sparks of sawdust erupting outward in a flurry. The ripper's hungry blade cried out in joy as it effortlessly sunk its teeth into the wood and split it in two. At the sight of the ripper's power, Thomas took a step back. Weaponless, it gave him another very good reason to keep his distance. _Shit, that's sharp! _

Barnes stepped forward and swung his sword with a horizontal slash, but it only cut through the air as Thomas ducked under the swipe. An opening revealed itself for a quick, well-placed uppercut under Barnes' mask, but the roar of the ripper in his other hand reminded Thomas why that'd be a very bad idea. Thomas jumped back and desperately looked around for something, anything that could be used to fight back. _What did he do with my weapons? _Thomas needed to know, but some sort of substitute would have to do for the time. Barnes lunged forth with a stab that was easily dodged. Thomas continued to back up and glanced towards the door he had sealed earlier. The pipe baring it was still wedged. Perhaps that could be used?

The only concern that accompanied the idea was if more of Barnes' thugs would bust through the door and rush to his side once the pipe was removed. _But wait, didn't he call them off? Yes, of course! _It was a very big chance to take, but if they did what they were told then no help would come; he'd have to rely on Barnes' grunts' obedience. He flew to the door and yanked the pipe loose. It felt pretty light, cold to the touch, and was about the length of a common short sword. As Barnes approached, Thomas had to quickly conjure up a game plan of how he would have to work around that damned ripper. It was obvious that it would slice through the pipe without a problem. The sword, on the other hand, looked like it had seen better days and appeared to be pretty dull. The pipe would probably be able to guard against swings from the rusted blade. For defense Thomas would have to block the sword. Dodging the ripper's swipes, not parrying them, was imperative. He was lucky its range was so short and he took note to keep his knees bent at all times; the closer to earth he was the easier evasion would be. With both hands gripped tightly on his new weapon, Thomas glared at Barnes and was ready to even things up.

"You're kiddin', right?" was the only muffled response from his opponent behind his arclight helmet. Without another word Barnes stepped forward, slashing at Thomas' right side. The teenager's swordplay with the pipe wasn't graceful by any means, but he was able to quickly guide his metal club to meet the attack. Sparks leaped out in a screeching joy as the sword and pipe clashed. The attack was followed by a ripper stab aimed for the face. Thomas quickly sidestepped and backed up. He needed to give himself some more space when his head started throbbing in agony again. Right away he groaned inside, realizing how difficult is was going to be to fight through this.

Thomas tried to slash at the shins. Blocked by the sword, he brought the pipe back to guard a counterattack from Barnes then ducked under another ripper strike. The words "block" and "dodge" kept shouting in Thomas' ears, telling him what to do. This kind of pressure made it difficult to get any of his own attacks in; he was too busy protecting himself. _Block...block, dodge, block, dodge! Dodge again! Wait, there's an opening! Go! _Taking advantage of an off-balance Barnes, Thomas saw his exposed right side. He stepped into his swing and smashed the pipe into the ribcage. His reward was hearing the principal cry out in the pain of his ribs cracking.

Barnes frantically slashed at Thomas wildly with the ripper, managing to get an upward cut that barely swiped across the teenager's chest and tore into his jumpsuit. Feeling the sting of the ripper Thomas shuddered and looked down to observe his new wound. Fresh blood was lined across his chest and began to drip down. After the two attacks had been exchanged Thomas, having to hold his head again, stepped back again saw that his swing seemed to have had more effective results.

Barnes was hunched to his side after the nasty shot his ribcage had to endure. A giant cluster of bruised black and blue swelled his impacted right side. Enraged by the pain and frustrated by Thomas outfighting him, Barnes was growing desperate to land a more convincing attack on the teenager. With a new rush of energy, the principal slammed his sword against the wall behind him. After four loud clangs against it and a shrieking war cry, Barnes advanced, his pace quickened with each step. Nobody needed to see his face to know that Barnes was thirsty for blood now. "You wanna see how raiders _really _fight, fucker?"

Thomas could sense a startling surge of newborn ferocity within Barnes and knew he'd have to go back to playing defense. _That really pissed him off; there's no doubt he's going to come back firing. _He held his metal sword substitute outward and took a fighting stance, prepared for the second confrontation. As Barnes approached Thomas wanted to get the first blow to try and snatch away that frantic rush his opponent was feeling. When Barnes was in striking distance, Thomas stepped and swung for the upper body to try and keep him off balance. It was easily parried and Thomas ducked another ripper swipe. He immediately rose back up to deal with a downward slam from the sword, the piecing ring stabbed at Thomas' already aching head.

Fighting through such irritation was still proving to be easier said than done. Every maneuver that Thomas had to make to either attack or defend came with the price of another pulse that jabbed at his brain.

Every stab and strike clashed with either a parry or nothing at all. Thomas was relieved in the back of his throbbing brain that the pipe was keeping him in the fight; such durability of something so hollow surprised him. The bad news was that each swing he made was getting more and more heavy on his weary arms. Fatigue was getting to both fighters as one forced the other to dance with the flurry of constantly attacking and defending. The only noises Thomas and Barnes placed in front of the stilling howl of the Wasteland were the clanging of rusted sword and ringing pipe, the grunts and shouts, and the now well known mechanical rumbling of the ripper.

Several minutes groaned by with the same results. No attacks could make contact with flesh as the two were now unknowingly moving in circles. However all that mattered was keeping their eyes on the other. The teenager looked on and took the split second in between actions to acknowledge that Barnes was getting as tired as he was. Both were breathing heavily and wanted to end the battle. A series of parries from Barnes and ducking another ripper blow left a second opening for Thomas to smash. Eyeing the exposed torso he quickly dropped to one knee and rammed the blunt pipe into Barnes' gut. The principal instantly hunched over and stumbled backwards with an, "oof". Ignoring his throbbing brain, Thomas raised his club and stepped into a baseball swing to give Barnes an equally painful headache. A loud and thick ring resounded when the pipe and helmet made contact, snapping his head backwards from the impact and forcing Barnes to drop his sword. Barnes was protected from most of the damage but his whole head was spinning and he was sent tumbling to the ground.

The nineteen year old sought to take advantage of the high ground and rushed over to kick the sword away. When the rusted blade slid across the floor, Thomas brought his club down again without even thinking, overly eager to get that killing blow.

As Barnes looked up with anticipation, he carefully watched the pipe and waited for the opening to take the momentum away. As the attack neared, the principal lunged up with his ripper at the precise time and slashed it horizontally. Its hungry teeth met with the hollow metal and ground their way through it without a problem. Thomas could do nothing but follow through with the swipe and watch as his pipe was sliced into two. Barnes was unharmed and Thomas was left with his weapon sawed in half. Barnes brought his boot to his opponent's gut and sent him back, giving him the time he needed to stand back up.

Thomas looked at his left hand with a loud curse. The metal club that had held its ground for all this time finally fell victim to the ripper and now barely protruded out of the grip of his hand. There wasn't enough time to think as Barnes was racing forward. With a desperate effort to buy even a fraction of a moment, Thomas chucked what was left of the pipe at his opponent and missed badly. He grunted as Barnes crashed into him and he was driven into the wall behind. Thomas didn't have the time to think about how bad of a situation this was. With Thomas pinned to the wall, Barnes brought the ripper up and was ready to plunge it into Thomas' heart. Before he could, though, the teenager brought his hands outward to catch the weapon. Both of them had their hands on the ripper and trying to get complete control of its motion. It seemed that Barnes was winning the standoff with the roaring chain of teeth edging closer and closer to their victim.

Thomas continued to push with everything he had to keep the damned thing away from him. The two grunted as they fought for the control. Barnes' whole upper body was tensing up as Thomas seemed to pushing it back again. The blade was now pointed upward and caught in the middle. With his back to the wall and worried that his arms were going to give out at any given second, Thomas hurriedly looked around and scanned the area for something else he could use when a dirty clump of weaponry caught his eye over by one of the blown out windows. _It's my stuff! _

It was imperative to escape from this jam Barnes had put him in through and grab his gear. With his new goal imprinted in his still-hurting head, Thomas returned his full focus to pushing the blade back. The struggle was evenly matched for the longest time with the blade occasionally leaning towards Thomas and then forced towards Barnes. Thomas managed to push the rotating teeth no more than a few inches away from Barnes' neck when the principal slammed his boot into Thomas' shin. He shouted a loud, "fuck!" and lost all control of the weapon.

Barnes wanted to capitalize so he recovered his grip on the ripper and drove it forward once more, eager to gaze upon the streams of red that would follow. Thomas manage to shake off the blow and looked up to see the mechanical blade racing towards his chest. He quickly sidestepped just in time to see it stab into the wall. The ripper's metallic scream showed its growing frustration with its master's inability to quench its thirst from blood.

"Damnit!" Barnes shouted as he yanked his weapon out of the wall and threw his hand outward in an attempt to backhand. Thomas caught his hand and held its ripper in place, driving Barnes backwards. Now it was the principal that was pinned. With this new momentum Thomas smashed him into the stone and pushed the ripper with everything he had. Barnes had not fully absorbed the impact in time and felt his own death-dealer tearing into his left arm right below his shoulder. Thomas ignored Barnes' agonized screams and looked to drive it deeper into the arm. Blood ruptured outward and splashed onto Thomas' face and jumpsuit as he cut into his victim.

He watched as the teeth ripped into muscle and tissue. It was becoming rather difficult to fight the disgust growing in his head and even within his gut. Sawing an arm off wasn't any more pleasant than when he blew Burke's head off, but Thomas knew this had to be done. The ripper had gone about halfway through Barnes' arm when his rage provided the necessary drive to smack his metal head into Thomas' cranium in a desperate attempt to cease the cutting.

The headbutt rocked the teenager back, causing Thomas to drop the ripper and sent him tumbling to the sun-soaked floor. He began holding his head again as more pain spun his mind around and pulsated more stabs across his throbbing brain.

A steady red bloodfall poured out of the half-dangling arm of Barnes. He had lost all control of moving it as he looked with horror at the damage Thomas had inflicted. Barnes had just stopped Thomas from slicing through the bone. As far as Barnes was concerned, his arm was now a useless weighted burden of blood and ruined flesh, bone, and muscle. Breathing heavily, he saw Thomas still rolling on the ground and groaning from the blow to his head and then looked down at the ripper that hummed on the ground. Barnes' favorite little weapon was returned to him as he bent down to grip it within his right hand. Infuriated, he raised the blade and walked toward Thomas. He wanted to end this before he lost too much precious blood.

With a hand still pressed against his forehead, Thomas regained his composure and the world stopped twisting in his eyes. He sat up to find Barnes' working arm coming down with full force. He rolled out of the way with a swift gasp and heard the ripper strike the ground, it screeching again with the contact. Still lying on the ground, Thomas immediately brought his foot up and smashed his boot into Barnes' helm-protected face. The thump made Barnes stumble back, his left arm flopping about without any control. With the few seconds he was provided with, Thomas zipped his look towards the far wall where his equipment was placed. This was it. If he was going to do away with this bastard, he would have to do it now. The teenager didn't have enough time to scurry to his feet so he frantically crawled as fast as his arms and legs could offer. He stumbled several times as he looked back to see a Barnes chasing right behind him with the both him and the ripper screaming.

The world was pulling his weapons closer and closer to Thomas. _C'mon..c'mon...come on! Almost there! _He simply refused to let tired limbs be such a pathetic reason as to why Barnes would catch him and slash him into two. Thomas' pace grew to be more hurried when he could hear the footsteps pounding the ground get louder and louder. When the pile of weapons was within reach, he dove and laid out to feel his 9mm in his hand once more. As soon as his gun was clenched in his hands he acted on pure instinct. Without even thinking Thomas shot up, spun around, sat up against the wall, took aim, and braced himself for the bang he anticipated from his pistol. The gun merely clicked. _No...NO!_

A sound of thunder cracked the air.

Barnes dropped to one knee when a brand new bullet hole sprouted on his upper chest. A few seconds later, another cracking boom planted a second sprout of red near the same area. Barnes said nothing and fell back. He laid sprawled out on the floor, his dead and pale face still being hidden by the helmet that wrapped around. His lifeless body looked straight up at the sky as his blood puddle expanded underneath his limp figure. With his arm nearly severed by his own weapon, two bullet holes dug in his torso, and a large bruise on his side, Barnes was finally dead. The howl of the wind brought stillness and silence once more to the Wasteland.

Even then the survivor of the duel had yet to fully process what just happened. Still sitting against the wall, Thomas never lowered his empty gun from aiming at the corpse, letting every heavy breath heave their way out of his lungs. He was too stunned to move otherwise. _I should be dead..._ The teen's eyes were wide open in this shock. Something or someone had saved his life; he had really caught lightning in a bottle. After a minute of just staring at Barnes, Thomas sluggishly struggled to his feet and groaned along the way back up. He leaned against the wall for support and looked out the window. What else was out there? "Hello?" he called out. Nothing. "Hello? Is there anybody out there? Just shout if you can hear me!" There was no other sign of life out in the land of radiation, rocks, and rubble. "Hello?" he tried one final time.

After the failure to obtain a response Thomas returned his focus to himself. The lonely holster on his side was now stuffed with his trust 9mm again and the shotgun slung around his back, fully equipping himself back to normal. As Thomas slowly walked towards Barnes' corpse, he took a look around the arena he had just fought though. The broken desks and cracked chalkboards scattered about disgusted him at this point. He was sick of the school now and couldn't wait to get back to Megaton to confront the man who forced him to do all of this in the first place. Kneeling to Barnes' side he searched his pockets. A lump on his left hip gave Thomas the ok to dig his hand into the pocket and pull out the small sack. As Thomas slid it into his own pocket he sighed. _All this for a bag of caps..._

_"_Sorry Barnes..." Thomas couldn't believe what he had just said to another guy who wanted to tear him apart, but he didn't let the thought linger around long enough to swim in his head. He needed a quick getaway before more unwanted conflicts busted through the door. He circled around the entire third floor for several minutes before a gutter appeared on the side of on of the blown out windows. It appeared to be about ten feet away from the window with a small extension just long enough to carefully get a proper footing. He looked back one last time at Barnes' dead body as it lay in the middle of the floor. Stepping through the window, he hugged the wall and scooted down until he reached the gutter.

Thomas firmly gripped the crusted and long pipe, beginning his descent. He slowly and carefully brought himself closer and closer to the ground. When it was safe to just jump off, Thomas hopped off the pipe. His boots plopped down to the ground and he kicked up a small cloud of dirt. _I'd better hurry before they all discover Barnes. _He looked into the distance, in the direction of his new home and sped off, leaving the school far behind him.

* * *

Thomas busted open the door to be greeted with numerous sets of eyes upon him as he stepped into the saloon. He didn't give a damn if the whole world was staring at him right now. He had his focus set on one person and one person only: Collin Moriarty. The teenager stormed to the counter, the look of disgust in his eyes.

"_Well_...look who made it back in one piece," the bartender laughed. "That's a handsome scratch you got across your chest, boyo." Collin laughed. "Nothing you couldn't handle, though! Ahahaha! Now, about my ca-"

"Shut the fuck up," Thomas sharply cut in. He pulled out the sack and slammed it on the counter and glared at it like he couldn't stand to look at the rattling bottle caps that fueled such greed. "Yeah, yeah. I got these little monsters. Now take 'em. I got the damn caps for you, now take them! Just get them outta my sight."

"My, my. You've been pretty busy," Collin smiled. He had the look of a business man who cared only about his prize that sat on the table. "Hope that bitch didn't give you _too _much of a hard time. Silver's the kind of gal who'd rather get her throat slit than part with some well-stolen caps."

"Yeah," Thomas sighed. "Yeah..."

"Wait a minute. You didn't kill her yourself, did you? No...no, you don't seem like the murderous type. Pfft." Moriarty threw his hands up, "I honestly don't give a shit where she is or what happened to her. Whatever it was she probably got what she deserved."

How_ the hell could he care so little about others than himself? Selfish prick! _Thomas did everything he could to restrain himself from lashing out at the businessman. He needed the information Collin had locked away behind that silver tongue of his. No matter what Moriarty was going to say, Thomas would just have to suck it up.

"Well a deal is a deal," Collin chuckled. "Caps for information is a fair trade in my books and I bet you're just _dying _to know where dear-old daddy ran off to, aren't ya?"

"Yes, Collin. Now tell me everything I want to know."


	9. Chapter 9: Galaxy News Radio

**Author's Note: Thank you all very much for waiting for Chapter 9. I'm actually rather happy with how this chapter turned out and had a lot of fun writing it. Let me know what you think! Until then, read on and enjoy.**

* * *

**Chapter 9 – Galaxy News Radio**

_Wednesday. August 18, 2277 - 11:21 p.m. / Day 2_  
_  
I'm too tired to write, but there is much that I need to get off of my chest. The first two days out here have left a hell of an impression on me, physically, mentally, emotionally…hell, all of the above. I never thought my life would turn out like it is so far. Yes, the vault sucked at times, but at least I didn't have to worry or not if I'd die. I can't keep escaping death by the skin of my teeth each and everyday…like I do out here. _

_Yesterday I had a crazy try to kill me, and today I had many crazies try to kill me. And for what? A few caps. That Moriarty bastard sent me on a suicide run to Springvale's old elementary school to get a few caps from some runaway druggie for him. All of this just to get him to tell me where Dad went. He had some serious nerve, claiming that he knew me and that I wasn't born in the vault. Does he really expect me to listen to that? He sounded almost as crazy as Burke!_

_But I needed information. All I could was bite the bullet and look for this girl._

_Silver, he called her. She apparently owed him some money and he made me his damn errand boy to go find her. That school was a deathtrap and nothing short of such a title! These people, slapped in leather strips for armor had inhabited it and every one of them wanted a bullet between my eyes. I tried everything I could to slip past these wackos and find Silver. Sadly, by the time I got to her she was dead and her caps gone, taken by some guy who kept calling himself, "The Principal". He was their ringleader, Barnes. _

_It was a real bitch to get to him but he ambushed me (my head still hurts). We had a fight on top of the school and I have never seen so much blood in my entire life. Not even yesterday rivals it. His ripper scared the living hell out of me as we fought on the third floor. He moved so fast and hit with such force and I thought for sure he'd sooner or later get that lights out blow on me. I was lucky enough to escape with just a large cut on my chest. Yet I have discovered something about me that I'd never guess about myself: I can fight. I can really fight, and my experience with Barnes has taught me this. I'm obviously the one still alive, but that son of a bitch made me work for it. Scared and exhausted, I swear I felt like I was sweating blood. _

_I lost track of just how long our duel went on, but I just didn't care. I kept beating the living hell out of him with a pipe I equipped myself with. What else could I do? He separated me from all my weapons while I was unconscious. I could never let my guard down against Barnes, but I eventually had that split second chance to look back at one of the room's corners to find my gear thrown into a pile. The opportunity presented itself to create separation between the two of us and run like hell to reclaim what was mine. _

_There is no doubt that after what happened next I should be dead. My guts should've been splattered all over the floor when my gun had no ammo in it. I don't deserve to be alive because of that, but I am damn grateful to be. I don't who or what but somebody saved me. As Barnes was nearing my defenseless being, a bullet hole sprouted from his chest, a bullet hole that was not commanded by me. And then another emerged. With the blood leaking from the two craters blasted into Barnes' torso he fell over without a word. There was nothing else I could really do but stand there in absolute shock. After several minutes of merely trying to absorb the resulting aftermath, I snatched the caps off of Barnes' lifeless body and quickly descended back down the school's outer walls and high-tailed it back to Megaton._

_I don't know who saved me, but I really wish I had the opportunity to thank them _

_Moriarty had a shitload of explaining to do. After risking my life yet again, I expected to tell me everything I wanted to know. When his precious caps were returned to him he did tell me a story of what exactly happened to Dad. He told me this story of how my dad had gone all the way to a place called Galaxy News Radio. My heart sank when I learned that this GNR is in the heart of downtown D.C. I have no idea why he'd go there and God only knows what horrors I'm going to find when I make the trek! He told me about these monsters called Super Mutants, and I am most definitely not looking forward to my first encounter with these monsters. The worst part of it all is that there is no way to be sure if Moriarty is actually telling me the truth…or just telling me what I want to hear. That is not going to stop me from making the journey. I have no other leads as to where James might be, so I have no choice but to take the gamble that Moriarty is for real on this one. After that I left his saloon and then returned home, greeted by a concerned Wadsworth, and bandaged my sliced chest as quickly as possible. I was relieved to see it stop bleeding, but it stings like holy hell._

_So far out here, I have already killed a lot of people: that Mr. Burke creep, quite a few raiders, and now Barnes. The idea that I'm actually thinking of all the people I have killed leaves me in disgust. How could I be saying this? I never imagined doing what I have done. I know it has to be done, but I never want to become a beast that kills without thinking. Several days out here have shaken my belief that I can save myself from becoming just that. All I can really do is pray that my humanity stays intact._

_But seriously, is everyone outside of Megaton insane like this?_

_I am getting more exhausted by the second and really need some sleep now, but there's too much on my mind still. _

_Now I go from a one on one gunfight to a butcher-infested elementary school to a gladiatorial fight to the death and very soon, to the bloodbath that will be downtown D.C. If everyday out here is gonna be like this, a new kill-or-be-killed scenario, I don't know how long I can last._

_"Threeee daaaawg!" _barked the Pip Boy's radio, waking Thomas. "_Hello, hello, to all of you faithful listeners of this fin Galaxy News Radio. Tell me, how are you kids handling post-apocalyptia these days? Well if you're still alive and listening to this, I'd say pretty damn good."_

* * *

The teenager kept listening but refused to depart from his dirt-stained pillow. Be it the vault or out in the Wastes, his mornings never ceased to be as sluggish as ever. While most young adults his age may have not done what he had, Thomas always had his traditional morning groan to start his day. Complaining about something so small made him feel like an immature child once again.

_"Another day, another steaming pile of news... You kids ready? Well you all know those big vaults, right? As you all know, I said those things were where people locked themselves away from the outside world, leaving the rest of us out here to fend for ourselves…ultimately dying in the end… Yeah, one could sure as hell say that I have a bit of a bitter taste for those people. Well it looks like I'm going to have to take it all back._

_"It just so happens that someone has emerged from the suffocation of their steel walls. That's right. One of those vault-dwellers is now out and about amongst us. His name is James Allen."_

The mere mentioning of his dad's name completely shifted Thomas' focus from_, "don't listen to the radio; just sleep," _to_, "holy shit, Moriarty was actually yelling me the truth! Turn it up!" _His eyes widened at the confirmation of Moriarty's story and he immediately sat up in his bed, starring at his wrist.

_"He's a real nice guy and we get along just fine. I'd tell him to say hello to you kiddies but I'm afraid he's downstairs in our illustrious lobby. So what exactly is he doing out here with us in the Wastes? The bigger question is why he left his cozy vault. I have yet to get an answer, but I'd like to have a little talk with James in the future. Perhaps he's more than just some scientist? I guess only time will tell. Well, here's some music!" _A very catchy jazz tune stepped in to replace of Three Dog's voice.

Sweet relief washed all across Thomas' mentality. He now had a very good idea of where to pinpoint the location of his father. The best part was that Moriarty didn't lie to him after all. Ignoring the music, the awestruck teenager starred at the wall, thinking deeply about the situation.

Why was James at a radio station? More importantly, why did he leave the Vault and Thomas behind in the first place? A lot of questions had to be answered and a lot of things had to be done in preparation for Thomas' trek into DC's ruins.

But one major curiosity still nudged at Thomas: how the hell did James, a fifty-two year old doctor from a vault, manage to fight his elderly way through the deadly ruins that were downtown DC? Thomas had yet to set foot in such a danger zone and he knew that not even Megaton's would last long in there. Dealing with raiders was challenging enough, but to deal with Super Mutants? No, James had to have had help fighting through the nation's fallen capital. Maybe he had an escort of some sort?

Thomas sat up and rose from his bed, pacing around with his thoughts. _How the hell am I gonna get to GNR? _He began to urge himself to immediately start looking for that support. The fear that James could decide to leave Three Dog's company and depart off to God-only-knows-where at any time was another real issue. Time and manpower. _What about Lucas?_ The thought of "recruiting" the sheriff was pondered for a few minutes. As enticing as it was, the idea of getting Lucas involved was ultimately rejected. _Megaton would be screwed without him, and it'd be pretty selfish of me to ask him to risk his life, the cornerstone of Megaton's law, for my gain. _Names began to line up as Thomas ran through his mental checklist. The major problem, though, was that there weren't very many names on that list; he only know oh so many people in his oh so short time in his new life.

He then thought about Collin, though he was shot down even faster. _Hell no! Moriarty is an asshole and there's no way he'd step away from his business for something that barely has anything to do with him like this._

A robotic hum could be heard from downstairs. Still throwing ideas around, Thomas leaned over the railing to look down at Wadsworth roaming about on the bottom floor. There was nothing that needed cleaning at the time so he just hovered around the house. "Hey Wadsworth," Thomas called out.

The buzzing butler whirled around and looked up at his master. "Ah, good morning, young sir. I see that you're looking much better from yesterday."

"I feel much better as well, thanks."

"Of course, of course! Now is there anything I can help you with?"

Thomas looked him over one last time before opening his mouth again. Recruiting Wadsworth already sounded like a terrible idea, but Thomas still needed that first person (or robot). Not even Wadsworth's saw arm looked like it would get far, despite Thomas' past attempts to keep his distance from the wheel of teeth. "Have you ever had to fight anything before?"

There was a surprised tone in his computerized voice. "A fighter? _Me?_" Wadsworth chuckled, "Oh heavens no, sir. I'm not one of those Mister Gutsy models. Too much blood for my programing. I have a few things to defend myself with, but I've never even come close to having to use them. Why do you ask, sir?"

"Oh no worries. I'm just… thinking out loud. Thank you, Wadsworth." Thomas guided himself to a chair near the railing and sat down, letting out a small sigh. _Well I saw that coming… _As disappointing as Wadsworth's answer was, it was exactly what Thomas expected. He couldn't be mad at the butler for the obvious. Besides, bad news is rarely ever as bad whenever one can see it coming a mile away. _He wouldn't last long at all out there anyways. I can't blame him. _

And so the hunt continued. Thomas refused to let the doubt of ever finding that first person nourish his dismay. There had to be somebody, whether he already knew them or not. A new idea was that Rachael girl he met the other day when he offed the bomb. _She doesn't seem like a fighter at all…but I've been surprised before. _He began to think back to his Vault days with his dear friend Amata, the overseer's daughter. It was a real shame that she couldn't help him now. After all, Thomas knew that he wouldn't be there without her assistance back in the walls of 101. She was able to nab that 9mm for him from her father and did everything in her power to distract him while Thomas made his escape. That relieved a lot of pressure during Thomas' push through Vault security. He smiled to himself, knowing that since he was now living in his new home, Megaton, and being able to search for his father in this Capital Wasteland, her actions were not in vain.

Thomas still had faith that maybe there was something he didn't know about this Rachael girl. It was certainly worth the try to ask the next time he would see her. He hoped for the best, but prepared for the expected.

Staying optimistic was always important to Thomas, but even that had holes in its armor. The idea that he did not have at least one solid answer was still pretty deflating. Collin, Lucas, Rachael, and even Wadsworth had all been considered, but at this rate, it seemed pretty fruitless for the time. Those were all the friendly faces he could think of, and "friendly" was used _very _loosely for Collin.

Thomas sat in silence, crossed arms and unable to come up with an answer. Surely there was someone else? There had to be.

He got up and trotted down the metal chunks that mimicked a staircase. When he greeted Wadsworth again with a nod, his eyes turned to his 9mm he left on a desk. Everything else he found on his hunt, the shotgun, ripper, and _Clean Eats_, was stored in a beat up locker backed against the wall, but Thomas found it necessary to give the gun Amata gifted to him "special treatment". After all, he'd be dead without it.

But while the 9mm bailed him out of his duel with Mr. Burke, it let him down against Barnes. There could have never be a worse time for his pistol to run dry on ammo than a bloodied up, enraged Barnes charging full force at Thomas. The mysterious shot that saved Thomas was just another blessing for Thomas to count for himself. It was almost unrealistic how many times Thomas could sigh in relief in the back of his head, "I'm lucky to be alive," in the course of just a few days.

That's when it hit him. _Of course! The person who saved me! Maybe he or she could help me out with this. _It was something to think about and more promising than any of the other names Thomas could think of. _To hit Barnes right in the chest from the ground with us three stories higher and still remain unseen took extraordinary accuracy. Whoever shot that gun sure as hell knows what they're doing. _

Thomas then considered the idea that there was a reason or reasons for his rescue that flew right over his head. There's no telling where that person came from, where they went, or why exactly they saved the teen. Perhaps there was more to it than just a rare act of human kindness? _What if he or she needs me for something? What if there's an entire group of people looking for me? _Thomas had no answers for any of his questions. It was now anticipated that wherever his savior came from, Springvale Elementary would not be the last time Thomas would hear from them.

_I think they are going to come for me. I don't know what they will want but I'll help them if they will help me._

Be it friend or foe, the thought that Thomas would see his rescuer again grew and grew. He didn't know what he or she wanted from him. No matter what happens, though, Thomas was sure of one thing: he'd be ready for them.


End file.
